MORAL    VIEWS 


OF 


COMMERCE,  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICS, 


IN   TWELVE  DISCOURSES, 


BY 


ORVILLE    DEWEY, 
ri 


rx 


LI  Bli.\    .  \ 

ruiYKkSTTv  OF 


<  AIJFORXIA. 


/ 


NEW-YORK: 
DAVID  FELT  &  CO.  STATIONERS'  HALL. 

1838. 


n^ 

V 


^v 


Entered  according  to  an  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1838, 
byOrville  Dewey,  in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of 
the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


PRINTED  AT  STATIONERS'  HALL  PRESS. 


CONTENTS 


Page 
DISCOURSE  I. 
On  the  Moral  Laws  of  .Trade, 9 

DISCOURSE  II. 
On  the  Moral  Law  of  Contracts, 48 

DISCOURSE  III. 

On  the  Uses  of  Labor,  and  a  Passion  for  a  Fortune,         .       74 

DISCOURSE  IV. 

On  the  Moral  Limits  of  Accumulation,  ....       99 

DISCOURSE  V. 

On  the  Natural  and  Artificial  Relations  of  Society,  .     117 

DISCOURSE  VI. 

On  the  Moral  Evils  to  which  American  Society  is  ex- 
posed,.         .         .         .         .         ,         .         .         .     145 

DISCOURSE  VII. 
On  Associations, 170 

DISCOURSE  VIII. 
On  Social  Ambition, 190 

DISCOURSE  IX. 

On  the  Place  which  Education  and  Religion  must  have  in 

the  Improvement  of  Society,         .        .        .        .210 


IV  CONTENTS. 

DISCOURSE  X. 
On  War, .        .235 

DISCOURSE  XI. 
On  Political  Morality, 257 

DISCOURSE  XII. 
The  Blessing  of  Freedom, 280 


1,1  iwtAlix 

rlM>mTV  of 


PREFACE, 


The  character  of  some  of  the  following  Discourses  will, 
doubtless,  be  thought  unusual  for  the  pulpit.  The  subjects 
themselves,  indeed,  are  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of  preaching. 
I  might  say  in  their  defence,  that  such  topics  have  been  some- 
times admitted  into  occasional  Sermons  ;  and  that  Commercial 
Morality,  in  particular,  has  been  made  the  subject  of,  at  least, 
one  entire  volume  of  Religious  Discourses,  which  has  not  offend- 
ed the  popular  taste.  But  this  defence,  I  must  confess,  does  not 
satisfy  me.  In  justice  to  my  own  convictions,  I  must  be  allow- 
ed to  place  the  following  discussions  on  a  broader  ground  than 
that  of  exception.  If  I  deserve  blame,  I  cannot  fairly  escape 
on  such  a  plea.  For  I  am  persuaded,  not  only  that  such  discus- 
sions are  entirely  proper  for  the  pulpit,  but  that  it  is  the  bounden 
duty  of  the  pulpit  to  entertain  them. 

If,  indeed,  I  have  violated  the  proper  decorum  of  religious 
discourse,  such  an  error  is  capable  of  no  defence.  But  I  must 
be  allowed  to  say,  that  when  I  had  determined  that  it  was  my 
duty  as  a  preacher,  to  discuss  certain  subjects,  I  could  not  allow 
any  formality  or  fastidiousness  of  the  pulpit,  to  prevent  me  from 
doing  so  with  as  much  thoroughness  and  detail,  as  were  com- 
patible with  the  gravity  of  the  place.  Thus,  with  regard  to 
the  first  discourse-^-on  the  Moral  Law  of  Contracts — knowing, 
as  I  did  know,  that  the  consciences  of  men  around  me,  were 
deeply  involved  in  the  questions  that  arose,  I  could  not  hesitate 
about  going  into  the  necessary  specifications,  however  unusual,  in 
preaching; — the  serious  business  of  such  a  discourse,  would  not 
allow  me  to  stand  on  pulpit  ceremony,  as  to  terms  and  phrases 
and  instances.  I  could  not  well  be  understood  without  them  ; 
and  as  the  object  of  speaking  is  to  be  understood,  I  knew  of  na 


s 

Vi  PREFACE. 

sanctity  of  time  or  place,  that  was  to  contravene  the  laws  of 
that  very  instrument,  speech,  which  I  was  using. 

I  am  not  ignorant,  at  the  same  time,  in  what  manner  any 
thing  unusual  in  the  subjects  or  style  of  religious  discourses  is 
likely  to  be  received.  I  know  that  there  will  be  some  readers, 
as  there  have  been  hearers  of  these  discourses,  to  say,  that  a 
part  of  them  would  be  more  suitable  for  the  Lyceum  and  lec- 
ture-room. Nay,  I  will  confess,  that  in  delivering  them,  I  have 
had  certain  feelings  of  reluctance  to  contend  with,  in  my  own 
mind ;  so  powerful  are  old  prepossessions  against  new  or  singu- 
lar views  of  duty.  Since  I  understand  the  feeling  of  objection, 
therefore,  will  the  kind  reader  who  may  entertain  the  same  feel- 
ing, permit  me  to  reason  the  matter  a  little  with  him  and  with 
myself,  in  the  remainder  of  this  preface  ? 

Let  me  ask,  in  the  first  place,  if  our  ideas  of  propriety  in  th'u 
case,  are  not  very  much  matters  of  convention  and  usage  ?  If  we 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  hear  discussions  in  our  churches, 
on  such  subjects  as  the  Morals  of  Traffic,  of  Politics,  and  of  our 
social  well-being  as  a  nation — if  the  terms  and  phrases  appro- 
priate to  such  subjects  had  found  a  place  in  the  pulpit,  should 
we  ever  have  doubted  their  propriety  ?  It  is  observable,  in- 
deed, that  certain  topics  have  forced  their  way  into  the  pulpit, 
within  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  which,  it  is  probable,  sound- 
ed as  questionably  and  strangely  in  ears  accustomed  only  to  the 
old  scholastic  preaching,  as  any  grave  moral  topics  can  now.  I 
allude  to  discussions  on  War  and  Peace,  on  Temperance,  Abo- 
lition, and  the  various  religious  enterprises  of  the  day. 

The  question  then  is — what  is  the  proper  range  of  the  pulpit  ? 
What  is  the  appropriate  business  of  preaching  ?  The  answer 
is  plain — to  address  the  public  mind  on  its  moral  and  religious 
duties  and  dangers.  But  what  are  its  duties  and  dangers,  and 
where  are  they  to  be  found  ?  Are  they  not  to  be  found  wherev- 
er men  are  acting  their  part  in  life  ?  Are  human  responsi- 
bility and  exposure  limited  to  any  one  sphere  of  action — to  the 
church  or  to  the  domestic  circle — or  to  the  range  of  the  gross 
and  sensual  passions  ?  Are  not  men  daily  making  shipwreck  of 
their  consciences  in  trade  and  politics  ?  And  wheresoever  con- 
science goes  to  work  out  its  perilous  problem,  shall  not  the 
preacher  follow  it  ?  It  is  not  very  material,  whether  a  man's 
integrity  forsakes  him  at  the  polls  in  an  election,  or  at  the  board 
of  merchandise ;  or  at  the  house  of  rioting,  or  the  gates  whose 


PREFACE.  Vll 

way  leadeth  to  destruction.  Outwardly  it  may  be  different,  but 
inwardly  it  is  the  same.  In  either  case,  the  fall  of  the  victim  is 
the  most  deplorable  of  all  things  on  earth  ;  and  most  fit,  there- 
fore, for  the  consideration  of  the  pulpit.  I  must  confess,  I  can- 
not understand,  by  what  process  of  enlightened  reasoning  and 
conscience,  the  preacher  can  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  there 
are  wide  regions  of  moral  action  and  peril  around  him,  into 
which  he  may  not  enter,  because  such  unusual  words  as,  Com- 
merce, Society,  Politics,  are  written  over  the  threshold. 

Nay  more ;  is  not  the  greatest  possible  disservice  done  to  the 
highest  interests  of  mankind,  by  this  limitation  as  to  subjects,  un- 
der which  the  pulpit  has  laid  itself.  The  confined  and  techni- 
cal character  which  belongs  to  the  common  administration  of 
religion,  does  more  than  any  thing  else,  in  my  apprehension,  to 
disarm  it  of  its  power.  I  am  not  insensible,  when  I  say  this,  to 
the  greatness  of  those  obstacles  in  the  human  heart  and  in  hu- 
man life,  with  which  it  has  to  contend.  I  am  not,  now,  measu- 
ring the  strength  of  those  obstacles,  but  simply  considering  the 
force  that  is  brought  to  bear  upon  them.  That  force  is  moral, 
spiritual  force ;  and  the  leading  form  of  it,  in  the  public  estima- 
tion, is  preaching.  The  pulpit  is  the  authorised  expositor  to 
men,  of  their  duties.  Those  duties,  it  will  not  be  denied,  press 
upon  every  action  and  instant  of  human  life.  But  what  now,  is 
the  consideration  which  the  pulpit  generally,  gives  to  this  wide 
and  busy  field  of  duty  ?  Are  not  whole  spheres  of  human  ac- 
tion left  out  of  the  account  ?  With  the  exception  of  some  occa- 
sional and  wholesale  denunciations,  are  not  business,  politics, 
amusements  and  fashionable  society,  passed  by  entirely  ?  Are 
not  men  left  to  say,  when  engaged  in  those  scenes — "  religion  has 
nothing  to  do  with  us  here  ?"  Do  they  not,  naturally  enough, 
feel  that  these  engagements  are,  in  a  manner,  set  apart  from  all 
sense  of  duty  ?  Is  it  strange,  then,  that  the  public  conscience  is  lax 
in  these  matters  ?  It  seems  to  me,  I  must  confess,  rather  a  hard 
measure  that  the  pulpit  deals  out  to  these  departments  of  life. 
It  never  recognizes  them  as  spheres  of  duty  :  it  does  nothing 
for  the  correction  or  culture  of  men's  minds  in  them  ;  and  yet, 
every  now  and  then,  it  comes  down  upon  their  aberrations  with 
cold,  bitter  and  unsparing  censure. 

Let  me  not  be  supposed  to  forget,  that  the  pulpit  has  to  deal 
with  topics  and  questions  of  duty,  that  go  down  into  the  depths 
of  the  human  heart — with  faith,  and  repentance,  and  love,  and 


Vlll  PREFACE* 

self-denial,  and  disinterestedness — and  that  its  principal  busi^ 
ness  is  thus  to  make  the  fountain  pure.  But  religion  has  an  out- 
ward form,  as  well  as  an  inward  spirit.  That  form  is  the  whole 
lawful  action  of  life.  And  to  cut  off  half  of  that  action  from  all 
public  and  positive  recognition — what  is  it  but  to  consign  it  over 
to  irreligion,  to  unprincipled  license,  and  worldly  vanity  ? 

There  is  time  enough  in  the  pulpit  for  all  things.  Nay,  it 
wants  variety.  It  is  made  dull  by  the  restriction  and  reitera- 
tion of  its  topics.  It  would  gain  strength  by  a  freer  and  fuller 
grasp  of  its  proper  objects.  What  it  can  do,  I  believe,  yet  re- 
mains to  be  seen.  We  complain  of  the  corruptions  of  fashion 
and  amusement,  of  business  and  politics.  The  calm,  consider- 
ate, concentrated,  universal  attention  of  the  pulpit,  to  these  things, 
would,  in  one  year,  I  believe,  produce  a  decided  and  manifest 
effect. 

But  the  great  evil,  I  am  sensible,  lies  deeper — too  deep  for  any 
sufficient  consideration,  within  the  narrow  limits  of  a  preface. 
The  pulpit  not  only  fails  in  this  matter,  but  it  fails  on  firincifilex 
and  on  a  principle  almost  universally  adopted.  The  evil  is,  that 
sermons,  pulpits,  priests — all  the  active  agents  that  are  laboring 
in  the  service  of  religion — are,  by  the  public  judgment  as  well 
as  by  their  own  choice,  severed  from  the  great  mass  of  humai\ 
actions  and  interests 


■'I-,.,.  vftI- 


DISCOURSE   I. 


ON  THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS, 


I  THESSALONIANS  IV.  6.     That  no  man  go  beyond  and 

DEFRAUD  HIS  BROTHER  IN  ANY  MATTER. 

I  propose  to  invite  your  attention  in  a  series  of 
three  or  four  Sabbath  evening  discourses,  to  the  moral 
laws  of  trade,  the  moral  end  of  business,  and  to  the 
moral  principles  which  are  to  govern  the  accumulation 
of  property.  The  first  of  these  subjects,  is  proposed 
for  your  consideration  this  evening ;  and  it  is  one,  as  I 
conceive,  of  the  highest  interest  and  importance. 

This  country  presents  a  spectacle  of  active,  absorb- 
ing, and  prosperous  business,  which  strikes  the  eye  of 
every  stranger,  as  its  leading  characteristic.  We  are 
said  to  be,  and  we  are  a  people,  beyond  all  others, 
devoted  to  business  and  accumulation.  This,  though 
it  is  often  brought  against  us  as  a  reproach,  is  really 
an  inevitable  result  of  our  political  condition,  I  trust 
that  it  is  but  the  first  development,  and  that  many  bet- 
ter ones  are  to  follow.  It  does,  however,  spring  from 
our  institutions  ;  and  I  hold,  moreover,  that  it  is  hon- 
orable to  them.  If  half  of  us  were  slaves,  that  half 
could  have  nothing  to  do  with  traffic.  If  half  of  us 
were  in  the  condition  of  the  peasantry  of  Europe,  the 


10        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

business  transactions  of  that  half  would  be  restricted 
within  a  narrow  sphere,  and  would  labor  under  a 
heavy  pressure.  But  where  liberty  is  given  to  each 
one  to  act  freely  for  himself,  and  by  all  lawful  means  to 
better  his  condition,  the  consequence  is  inevitably 
what  we  see — an  universal  and  unprecedented  activ- 
ity among  all  the  classes  of  society,  in  all  the  depart- 
ments of  human  industry.  The  moral  principles  then, 
applicable  to  the  transaction  of  business  have  strong 
claims  upon  our  attention  ;  and  seem  to  me,  very  pro- 
per subjects  of  discussion  in  our  pulpits. 

There  are  moral  questions  too,  as  we  very  well 
know,  which  actually  do  interest  all  reflecting  and  con- 
scientious men  who  are  engaged  in  trade.  They  are 
very  frequently  discussed  in  conversation  ;  and  very 
different  grounds  are  taken  by  the  disputants.  Some 
say  that  one  principle  is  altogether  right,  and  others, 
that  another  and  totally  different  one  is  the  only  right 
principle.  In  such  circumstances,  it  seems  to  me  not 
only  proper  but  requisite,  for  those  whose  office  it  is 
to  speak  to  men  of  their  duties,  that  they  should  take 
up  the  discussion  of  these  as  they  would  any  other 
moral  questions.  I  am  obliged  to  confess  that  we  are 
liable,  scholastic  and  retired  men  as  we  are,  to  give 
some  ground  to  men  of  business,  for  anticipating  that 
our  reasonings  and  conclusions  will  not  be  very  prac- 
tical or  satisfactory.  I  can  only  say,  for  myself,  that  I 
have,  for  some  time,  given  patient  and  careful  atten- 
tion to  the  moral  principles  of  trade  ;  that  I  have 
often  conversed  with  men  of  business  that  I  might 
understand  the  practical  bearings  and  difficulties 
of  the  subject ;  that  I  have  also  read  some  of  the 
books  in  which  the  morality  of  contracts  is  discussed  ; 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.        11 

and  although  a  clergyman,  I  shall  venture,  with  some 
confidence  as  well  as  modesty,  to  oner  you  my 
thoughts  on  the  points  in  question.  I  say  the  points 
in  question  ;  and  I  have  intimated  that  there  are  points 
in  debate,  questions  of  conscience  in  business,  which 
are  brought  into  the  most  serious  controversy.  I  have 
even  known  conscientious  and  sensible  men,  them- 
selves engaged  in  trade,  to  go  to  the  length  of  assert- 
ing, not  only  that  the  principles  of  trade  are  immoral 
and  unchristian,  but  that  no  man  can  acquire  a  pro- 
perty in  this  commerce  without  sacrificing  a  good  con- 
science ;  that  no  prosperous  merchant  can  be  a  good 
Christian.  I  certainly  think  that  such  casuists  are 
wrong ;  but  whether  or  not  they  are  so,  the  principles 
which  bring  them  to  a  conclusion  so  extraordinary, 
evidently  demand  investigation. 

In  preparing  to  examine  this  opinion,  and  indeed  to 
discuss  the  whole  subject,  it  will  not  be  improper  to 
observe  in  the  outset,  that  trade  in  some  form,  is  the 
inevitable  result  of  the  human  condition.  Better,  it 
has  been  said,  on  the  supposition  already  stated — bet- 
ter that  commerce  should  perish  than  Christianity ; 
but  let  it  be  considered  whether  commerce  can  per- 
ish. Nothing  can  be  more  evident  than  that  the 
earth  was  formed  to  be  the  theatre  of  trade.  Not  on- 
ly does  the  ocean  facilitate  commerce,  but  the  diver- 
sity of  soils,  climes,  and  products,  requires  it.  So  long 
as  one  district  of  country  produces  cotton,  and  another 
corn  ;  so  long  as  one  man  lives  by  an  ore-bed  which 
produces  iron,  and  another,  on  pasture-lands  which 
grow  wool,  there  must  be  commerce.  In  addition  to 
this,  let  it  be  considered  that  all  human  industry  inevi- 
tably tends  to  what  is  called  "  the  division  of  labor." 


12  THE    MORAL    LAW    OP    CONTRACTS. 

The  savage  who  roams  through  the  wilderness,  may 
possibly,  in  the  lowest  state  of  barbarism,  procure  with 
his  own  hand  all  that  suffices  for  his  miserable  ac- 
commodation,— the  coat  of  skins  that  clothes,  the  food 
that  sustains,  and  the  hut  that  shelters  him.  But  the 
moment  that  society  departs  from  that  state,  there  ne- 
cessarily arise  the  different  occupations  of  shepherd, 
agriculturist,  mechanic,  and  manufacturer  ;  the  pro- 
ducts of  whose  industry  are  to  be  exchanged  ;  and 
this  exchange  is  trade.  If  a  single  individual  were  to 
perforin  all  the  operations  necessary  to  produce  a 
piece  of  cloth,  and  yet  more  a  garment  of  that  cloth, 
the  process  would  be  exceedingly  slow  and  expensive. 
Human  intelligence  necessarily  avails  itself  of  the 
facility,  the  dexterity,  and  the  advantage  every  way, 
which  are  to  be  obtained  by  a  division  of  labor.  The 
very  progress  of  society  is  indicated  by  the  gradual 
and  growing  development  of  this  tendency. 

Besides,  it  has  been  justly  observed  by  a  celebrated 
writer  on  this  subject,*  that  "  there  is  a  certain  propen- 
sity in  human  nature  to  truck,  barter,  and  exchange 
one  thing  for  another.  It  is  common  to  all  men,"  he 
says,  "  and  to  be  found  in  no  other  race  of  animals, 
which  seem  to  know  neither  this  nor  any  other  spe- 
cies of  contracts.  Nobody,"  he  observes,  "  ever  saw 
a  dog  make  a  fair  and  deliberate  exchange  of  one  bone 
for  another,  with  another  dog.  Nobody  ever  saw  one 
animal  by  its  gestures  and  natural  cries  signify  to  an- 
other, this  is  mine,  that  yours ;  I  am  willing  to  give 
this  for  that." 

Trade,  then,  being  a  part  of  the  inevitable  lot  of 
cultivated  humanity,  the  question  is,  not  about  abolish- 

*Adam  Smith. 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OP  CONTRACTS.        13 

ing,  but  about  the  moral  principles  that  are  to  regulate 
it.  And  the  grand  question  which  I  propose  now  to 
examine  is,  the  only  one  that  presses  upon  the  con- 
science, and  therefore  proper  for  discussion  in  the  pul- 
pit ;  and  one,  too,  of  daily  recurrence — the  question, 
that  is,  about  the  moral  law  of  contracts.  The  ques- 
tion, to  state  it  more  definitely,  is,  whether,  in  making 
contracts,  it  is  right  for  one  party  to  take  any  advan- 
tage, or  to  make  any  use,  and  if  any,  what,  of  his  supe- 
rior sagacity,  information,  or  power  of  any  kind  ? 

Let  us  first  inquire,  how  we  are  to  settle  this  ques- 
tion ?  What  is  the  process  of  mind  by  which  we  are 
to  ascertain  and  establish  the  moral  laws  of  trade  ? 

Does  the  natural  conscience  declare  them?  Is 
there  any  instinctive  prompting  of  conscience,  that  can 
properly  decide  each  case  as  it  arises  in  the  course  of 
business  ?  Is  there  any  voice  within,  that  says  clearly 
and  with  authority,  "  thou  shalt  do  thus,  and  so  ?"  I 
think  not.  The  cases  are  not  many,  in  any  depart- 
ment of  action,  where  conscience  thus  reveals  itself. 
But  in  business  they  are  peculiarly  rare,  because  the 
questions  there,  are  unusually  complicated.  You  offer 
to  sell  to  your  neighbor  an  article  of  merchandise. 
You  are  entitled  of  course — i.  e.  in  ordinary  circum- 
stances— to  some  advance  upon  what  it  cost  you.  But 
what  that  is,  depends  on  many  circumstances.  Con- 
science will  hardly  mark  down  the  just  price  in  your 
account-book.  Conscience,  indeed,  commands  us  to 
do  right ;  but  the  question  is,  what  is  right  ?  This  is 
to  be  decided  by  views  far  more  various  and  compre- 
hensive, than  the  simple  sense  of  right  and  wrong. 

The  Scriptures,  like  conscience,  are  a  general  direc- 
tory.    They  do  not  lay  down  any  specific  moral  laws 

2 


14        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

of  trade.  They  command  us  to  be  upright  and  hon- 
est ;  but  they  leave  us  to  consider  what  particular 
actions  are  required  by  those  principles.  They  com- 
mand us  to  do  unto  others  as  we  would  have  them  do 
to  us ;  but  still  this  is  not  specific.  A  man  may  un- 
reasonably wish  that  another  should  sell  him  a  piece 
of  goods  at  half  its  value.  Does  it  follow  that  he  him- 
self ought  to  sell  on  those  terms  ?  The  truth  is,  that 
the  golden  rule,  like  every  other  in  Scripture,  is  a  gen- 
eral maxim.  It  simply  requires  us  to  desire  the  wel- 
fare of  others,  as  we  would  have  them  desire  ours. 
But  the  specific  actions  answering  to  that  rule,  it  leaves 
us  to  determine  by  a  wise  discretion.  The  dictates  of 
that  discretion,  under  the  governance  of  the  moral  law, 
are  the  principles  that  we  seek  to  discover. 

Neither,  on  this  subject,  can  I  accept  without  ques- 
tion the  teachings  of  the  common  law ;  because,  I  find, 
that  its  ablest  expounders  acknowledge  that  its  deci- 
sions are  sometimes  at  variance  with  strict  moral  prin- 
ciple. I  do  not  think  it  follows  from  this,  that  the  gen- 
eral principles  of  the  common  law,  are  wrong,  or  abet 
wrong.  Nay,  I  conceive  that  they  may  approach  as 
near  to  rectitude  as  is  possible  in  the  circumstances, 
and  yet  necessarily  involve  some  practical  injustice  in 
their  operation.  This  results,  in  fact,  from  their  very 
utility,  their  very  perfection,  as  a  body  of  laws.  For  it 
is  requisite  to  their  utility,  that  they  should  be  general, 
that  they  should  be  derived  from  precedents  and  formed 
into  rules  ;  else,  men  will  not  know  what  to  depend 
upon,  nor  how  to  govern  themselves  ;  and  there  would 
neither  be  confidence,  nor  order,  nor  society.  But 
general  rules  must  sometimes  bear  hard  upon  indivi- 
duals ;  the  very  law  which  secures  justice  in  a  thou- 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.         15 

sand  cases,  may,  and  perhaps  must,  from  the  very  na- 
ture of  human  affairs  and  relationships,  do  injustice  in 
one.  Indeed,  the  law  of  chancery,  or  of  equity,  has 
been  devised  on  purpose  to  give  relief.  But  oven 
chancery  has  its  rules  which  sometimes  press  injuri- 
ously upon  individual  interests  ;  and  no  human  laws 
can  attain  to  a  perfect  and  unerring  administration  of 
justice.  For  this  perfect  justice,  however,  we  seek. 
We  are  asking  what  it  is  to  do  no  wrong  to  our  fel- 
low-man, whether  the  law  permits  it  or  not.  We  are 
asking  how  we  shall  stand  acquitted,  not  merely  at  the 
bar  of  our  country,  but  at  the  bar  of  conscience  and 
of  God. 

I  must  add,  in  fine,  that  questions  about  right  and 
wrong  in  the  contracts  of  trade,  are  not  to  be  decided 
by  any  hasty  impulses  of  feeling,  or  suggestions  of  a 
generous  temper.  I  have  often  found  men,  in  conver- 
sation on  this  subject,  appealing  to  their  feelings ;  but 
however  much  I  have  respected  those  feelings,  it  has 
seemed  to  me,  that  they  were  not  the  proper  tribunal. 
Nay,  they  have  often  appeared  to  me  to  mistake  the 
point  at  issue.  If  a  merchant  has  a  large  store  of  pro- 
visions in  a  time  of  scarcity,  would  it  not  be  a  very 
noble  and  praise- worthy  thing,  it  is  said,  for  him  to  dis- 
pose of  his  stock,  without  enhancing  the  price  ?  But 
the  proper  question  is  not,  what  is  generous,  but  what 
is  just.  And  besides,  he  cannot  be  generous,  or  what 
is  the  same  thing  in  effect,  he  cannot  establish  a  gen- 
erous principle  in  the  distribution  of  his  store.  For  if 
he  sells  in  large  quantities,  selling,  that  is,  at  a  low 
rate,  it  will  avail  nothing,  because  the  subordinate 
dealers  will  raise  the  price.  Or,  if  he  undertakes  to  sell 
to  each  family  what  it  wants ;    any  one  of  them  may 


16  THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS. 

take  the  article  to  the  next  warehouse,  and  dispose  of 
it  at  the  enhanced  price.  On  the  contrary,  there  are 
circumstances,  undoubtedly,  in  which  a  man  may  take 
undue  advantage  of  a  monopoly;  but  this  will  be  a 
case  for  future  consideration.  For  the  present,  it  is 
sufficient  to  observe,  what  I  think  must  be  obvious,  that 
the  great  question  before  us  is  to  be  decided,  not  by 
any  enactments  of  law,  nor  any  immediate  dictate  of 
conscience,  or  specific  teaching  of  Scripture,  or  single 
impulse  of  good  feeling,  but  by  broad  and  large  views 
of  the  whole  subject.  Conscience,  and  Scripture,  and 
right  feeling  are  to  govern  us ;  but  it  is  only  under  the 
guidance  of  sound  reasoning. 

Let  me  beg  your  indulgence  to  one  or  two  further 
preliminary  observations.  The  questions  to  be  dis- 
cussed are  of  great  importance,  and  scarcely  of  less  dif- 
ficulty. It  is  hardly  possible  to  overrate  the  impor- 
tance of  a  high,  and  at  the  same  time,  just  tone  of  com- 
mercial morality.  I  am  addressing  merchants  and 
young  men,  who  are  to  be  the  future  merchants  of  this 
city  and  country.  I  am  addressing  them  on  the  moral- 
ity of  their  daily  lives,  on  the  principles  that  are  to 
form  their  character  for  time,  and  eternity  ;  and  while 
I  task  myself  to  speak  with  the  utmost  care  and  de- 
liberation, I  shall  not  be  thought  unreasonable,  I  trust, 
if  I  invite  the  patient  attention  of  those  who  hear  me, 
to  share  in  the  task. 

There  is  then,  on  this  subject,  a  distinction  to  be 
made  between  principles  and  rules.  Principles,  the 
principles  that  is  to  say  of  truth,  justice  and  benefi- 
cence, are  clear  and  immutable  ;  the  only  difficulty  is 
about  the  application  of  them — i.  e.  about  rules.  Prin- 
ciples, I  say,  are  to  be  set  apart,  at  once  and  entirely. 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS.  17 

from  all  doubt  and  uncertainty.  They  hold  their  place 
on  high,  like  unchanging  lights  in  the  heavens.  The 
only  question  is,  how,  in  obedience  to  their  direction, 
we  are  faithfully  and  surely  to  work  our  traverse  across 
the  troubled  ocean  of  business.  Here,  I  say,  is  all  the 
difficulty.  Rules,  I  repeat,  result  from  the  application 
of  principles  to  human  conduct,  and  they  must  be 
affected  by  the  circumstances  to  which  they  relate. 
Thus;  it  is  an  immutable  principle  in  morals,  that  I 
should  love  my  neighbor,  my  fellow-being,  and  desire 
to  promote  his  happinessv  This  principle  admits  of 
no  qualification ;  it  can  suffer  no  abatement  in  any 
circumstances.  But  when  I  come  to  consider  what  I 
shall  do  in  obedience  to  this  principle  ;  what  I  shall  do 
for  the  poor,  the  sick,  or  the  distressed ;  by  what  acts 
I  shall  show  my  kindness  to  my  neighbor,  or  my  inter- 
est in  the  welfare  of  the  world, — when,  in  other  words, 
I  come  to  consider  the  rules  of  my  conduct,  I  am 
obliged  at  once  to  admit  doubts  and  difficulties.  The 
abstract  principle  cannot  be  my  law,  without  any  re- 
gard to  circumstances,  though  some  moral  reformers 
would  make  it  such.  I  must  go  on  the  right  line  of 
conduct,  it  is  true,  but  where  that  line  shall  lead  me, 
is  to  be  determined  by  a  fair  consideration  of  the  cases 
that  come  before  me.  If  it  is  not,  I  shall  contravene 
the  very  principle  on  which  I  am  acting.  If,  for  in- 
stance, I  do  nothing  but  give,  give  to  the  poor,  I  shall 
be  doing  them  an  injury,  not  a  kindness.  The  great 
law  of  benevolence,  in  fact,  as  truly  requires  discre- 
tion as  it  enforces  action. 

This  distinction  fully  applies  to  the  subject  we  are 
about  to  examine.     Rectitude,  justice,   benevolence, 
truth-telling,  are    immutable  laws   of  trade,  as  they 
2* 


18        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

are  of  all  human  conduct.  There  is  no  certain  extent 
to  which  they  go ;  they  apply  without  limit  to  every 
department  and  every  transaction  in  business ;  they 
are  never  to  be  contravened.  But  in  laying  down 
practical  rules  for  traffic,  we  immediately  meet  with 
difficulties,  and  are  obliged  to  leave  a  great  deal  to  the 
honest  judgment  of  the  trader.  He  must  do  right,  in- 
deed ;  that  is  the  great  law ;  but  what  is  right  ?  Let 
us  now  more  nearly  approach  this  question,  having  nar- 
rowed it  down  to  a  question  about  rules,  and  more 
closely  apply  ourselves  to  the  difficulties  involved  in  it. 
And  here,  I  must  ask  you  to  consider  as  a  further  and 
final  preliminary  topic,  the  language  of  the  legal  wri- 
ters on  this  subject.  It  is  common  with  those  writers 
to  make  a  distinction  between  moral  and  legal  justice ; 
or,  in  other  words,  between  the  demands  of  conscience 
and  the  decisions  of  their  courts.  Conscience,  for  in- 
stance, demands  that  a  certain  contract  shall  be 
annulled,  because  there  was  some  concealment  or  de- 
ception, but  the  courts  will  not  annul  it,  unless  the 
injury  be  very  great.  In  short,  it  is  a  matter  of  de- 
grees. Up  to  a  certain  extent,  the  law  will,  in  fact, 
protect  a  man  in  doing  what  is  wrong,  in  doing  that 
which  violates  his  conscience  ;  beyond  a  certain  ex- 
tent, it  will  not  protect  him.  This  distinction  is  founded 
on  the  policy  of  the  law,  and  the  policy  of  trade.  "  In 
law,"  says  Pothier,  "  a  party  will  not  be  permitted  to 
complain  of  slight  offences,  which  he,  with  whom  a  con- 
tract is  made,  has  committed  against  good  faith  ;  other- 
wise there  would  be  too  many  contracts  to  be  rescind- 
ed ;  which  would  open  the  way  for  too  much  litigation, 
and  would  derange  commerce."*     And  again,  "the 

*  Traits  des  Obligations,  Part.  I.  ch.  t   Sec.  1.    Art.  3.  §  X 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.        19 

interests  of  commerce  will  not  easily  permit  parties  to 
escape  from  bargains  which  they  have  concluded ; 
they  must  lay  the  blame  to  their  not  having  been  better 
informed  concerning  the  defects  of  the  article  sold."* 
And  again  he  says,  "this  rule  is  wisely  established  for 
the  security  and  freedom  of  commerce,  which  demand 
that  no  one  should  easily  be  off  from  his  bargains ; 
otherwise  men  would  not  dare  to  make  contracts,  for 
fear  that  he  with  whom  they  had  bargained,  should 
imagine  that  he  was  injured,  and  upon  that  ground 
(of  mere  imagination  or  pretence)  should  commence 
an  action."  Hence,  Pothier  says,  that  the  wrong  of 
which  the  courts  will  take  cognizance,  must  be  an 
enormous  wrong. f 

Now  there  is,  doubtless,  a  certain  expediency  here  ; 
a  certain  policy  of  trade,  a  certain  policy  of  the  law. 
It  is  expedient  that  a  fair  field  be  opened  in  business 
for  ingenuity,  sagacity  and  attention ;  and  that  igno- 
rance, indolence  and  neglect,  should  meet  with  loss. 
"  The  common  law,"  says  Chancellor  Kent,  "  affords 
to  every  one,  reasonable  protection  against  fraud  in 
dealing  ;  but  it  does  not  go  the  romantic  length  of  giv- 
ing indemnity  against  the  consequences  of  indolence 
and  folly,  or  a  careless  indifference  to  the  ordinary  and 
accessible  means  of  information."  J 

What  is  the  nature,  and  what  is  the  amount  of  this 
concession  to  expediency  ?  Let  us  carefully  consider 
this  question,  for  much  depends  upon  it. 

Legal  expediency,  then,  is  not  to  be  so  construed  as 
to  warrant  the   supposition,  that  it  lends  a  sanction  to 

*  Trait 6  du  Contrat  de  vente,  Part.  II.  ch.  2.     Art  2. 

t  Traite  de:;  Obligations,  Part.  I.  ch.  1.  Sec.  1.  Art.  3.  §  4. 

±  Commentaries. 


20        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

what  is  wrong.  It  may,  from  necessity,  permit  or  pro- 
tect fraud,  but  does  not  abet  it.  A  man  is  not  to  con- 
sider himself  an  honest  man,  simply  because  the  law 
gives  him  deliverance.  For  the  law  cannot  take  cog- 
nizance of  the  secret  intentions,  nor  of  slight  deviations 
from  truth.  If  every  man  who  says  he  has  got  a  bad 
bargain,  and  who  thinks  he  has  been  cheated,  could  be 
iieard  in  court,  our  tribunals  would  be  overwhelmed 
with  business.  No  human  tribunal  can  descend  to  the 
minutiae  of  injustice.  But  the  law,  I  repeat,  does  not 
sanction  what  it  does  not  undertake  to  prevent,  any 
more  than  the  infinite  providence  sanctions  those 
abuses  which  arise  from  its  great  law  of  freedom. 

This  being  the  nature  of  the  concession  to  expedi- 
ency— no  principle  being  compromised — we  may  say, 
that  the  extent  of  the  concession  must  be  considerable. 
It  is  certainly  expedient  that  every  man  be  put  upon 
his  own  discretion,  sagacity  and  attention,  for  success. 
In  business,  as  in  every  thing  else,  a  premium  is  set  upon 
these  qualities  by  the  hand  of  providence.  It  is  expe- 
dient, in  other  words,  that  every  man  should  take  care 
of  himself.  Others  are  not  to  step  forward  at  every  turn 
to  rescue  him  from  the  consequences  of  his  indolence 
or  inattention.  The  seller  is  not  required  to  give  his 
opinion  to  the  buyer.  If  he  knows  of  any  defect  in  his 
merchandise,  not  apparent  to  the  buyer,  he  is  bound 
to  state  it ;  but  he  is  not  required  to  give  his  opinion. 
The  buyer  has  no  business  to  ask  it  of  him  ;  he  is  to 
form  an  opinion  for  himself.  If  he  is  relieved  from 
doing  this,  he  will  always  remain  in  a  sort  of  mercan- 
tile childhood. 

Nor  do  I  know  that  there  is  any  thing  in  Scripture, 
or  in  the  laws  of  human  brotherhood,  that  forbids  this 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OP  CONTRACTS.        21 

honest,  not  fraudulent,  but  honest  competition  between 
men's  exertions,  faculties  and  wits.  We  are  indeed 
to  do  to  others  as  we  would  have  them  do  to  us ;  but 
we  ought  not  to  wish  them  to  do  any  thing  to  us,  which 
is  inconsistent  with  the  general  welfare  of  the  commu- 
nity, with  the  lawful  and  necessary  stimulants  to 
action.  We  may  have  unreasonable  desires  :  we  would, 
perhaps,  that  our  rich  neighbor  should  present  us  with 
half  of  his  fortune ;  but  unreasonable  desires  are 
not  the  measure  of  our  duties.  Not  whatever  we 
wish,  but  what  we  lawfully  wish  from  others,  should 
we  do  to  them.  And  lawfully,  we  can  no  more  wish 
that  they  should  give  to  our  indolence  and  negligence, 
the  benefit  of  their  sagacity  and  alertness  in  making  a 
contract,  than  that  they  would  give  to  our  poverty  the 
half  of  that  wealth,  which  their  superior  industry  or 
talent  had  earned  for  them.  Thus,  too,  when  it  is 
said  that  we  ought  to  treat  all  men  as  brethren  $  it  is 
true,  indeed,  so  far  as  that  relation  is  expressive  of  the 
general  relationships  of  society.  But  while  there 
should  be  a  brotherly  community  of  feeling,  there  can- 
not be  a  brotherly  identity  of  interests  between  the 
members  of  society ;  and,  therefore,  they  are  not  bound 
to  deal  with  one  another  as  if  they  belonged  to  a  com- 
munity of  Shakers,  or  of  New  Harmony  men.  We 
are  not  to  break  down  the  principle  of  individuality, 
of  individual  interests,  of  individual  aims  ;  wrhile  at  the 
same  time,  wTe  are  to  hold  it  in  subjection  to  the  laws 
of  sacred  honesty,  and  of  a  wise  philanthropy. 

Besides,  it  is  not  only  expedient  and  right,  but  it  is 
inevitable,  that  individual  power  and  talent  should 
come  into  play  in  business.  A  man's  sagacity,  it  is 
obvious,  he  must  use — that  is  to  say,  his  mind  he  must 


22        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

use — for  he  has  nothing  else  to  go  by.  He  may  use  it 
unjustly,  to  the  heinous  injury  of  his  weaker  neighbor ; 
but  still  he  must  use  it.  So  also  with  regard  to  the 
power  acquired  by  a  large  property,  or  by  a  mono- 
poly, it  is  inevitable  that  it  should  be  used.  To  some 
extent,  the  possessor  cannot  help  using  it.  Wealth 
has  credit ;  and  monopoly,  usually  implying  scarcity, 
carries  an  enhanced  price  with  it ;  and  such  results 
are  unavoidable.  Finally,  superior  actual  knowledge, 
may,  and  must  be  used,  to  some  extent.  In  every  de- 
partment of  business,  superior  knowledge  is  gained  by 
attention,  and  it  may  and  must  be  acted  upon ;  albeit 
to  the  hurt  or  injury  of  those  who  know  less,  or  have 
devoted  less  time  and  thought  to  the  subject.  A  man 
has  made  an  improvement  in  some  machinery  or  man- 
ufacture, and  he  is  entitled  to  some  reward  for  the 
attention  he  has  given  to  it ;  the  government  will  give 
him  a  patent.  A  man  has  been  to  India  or  to  South 
America,  to  acquaint  himself  with  a  certain  branch  of 
business,  and  he  comes  home  and  acts  upon  his  know- 
ledge, and  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  do  so.  He  is  not 
bound  to  communicate  his  knowledge  to  his  brother 
merchants  who  are  engaged  in  the  same  trade;  and, 
perhaps,  his  knowledge  so  much  depends  upon  actual 
observation  and  experience,  that  he  cannot  communi- 
cate it.  In  like  manner,  a  trader  may  obtain  a  supe- 
rior knowledge  of  business  and  of  the  facts  on  which 
it  depends,  by  a  close  observation  of  things  immediately 
around  him,  and  he  must  act  upon  it ;  he  cannot  em- 
ploy himself  in  going  about  to  see  whether  other  men 
have  got  the  same  enlarged  views.  Nor  have  other 
men  any  right  to  complain  of  this.  The  unskilful 
painter  or  sculptor,  the  ignorant  lawyer  or  physician 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.        23 

might  as  well  complain,  that  their  more  distinguished 
brethren  were  injuring  their  business,  and  taking  all  the 
prizes  out  of  their  hands. 

I  have  thus  attempted  to  set  forth  the  claims  of  in- 
dividual enterprise,  as  having  a  useful,  a  beneficent 
tendency.  These  claims,  I  have  all  along  implied,  are 
subject  to  certain  limitations.  And  these  limitations 
are  set  by  the  laws  of  honesty  and  philanthropy. 
That  is  to  say,  a  man  may  pursue  his  own  interest ; 
he  may  use  his  endeavor,  sagacity,  ability ;  but,  in  the 
first  place,  he  shall  not  pursue  any  traffic  or  make  any 
contract  to  the  injury  of  his  neighbor ;  unless  that  in- 
jury is  one  that  inevitably  results  from  a  general  and 
good  principle — that  is  to  say,  from  the  healthful  ac- 
tion of  business ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  he  shall  not 
pursue  his  own  ends  to  the  extent  of  committing  any 
fraud. 

This  last  limitation  is  the  one  of  the  most  palpable 
importance,  and  demands  that  we  should  dwell  upon 
it  a  moment.  What  then  is  a  fraud  in  contracts  i  In 
order  to  answer  the  question,  let  us  ask  what  is  a 
contract  ?  A  contract  is  a  mutual  engagement,  to  ex- 
change certain  goods  for  other  goods,  or  certain  goods 
for  money,  and  the  essence  of  the  engagement  lies  in 
the  supposed  equivalency  of  the  things  that  are  ex- 
changed. This  results  from  the  very  nature  of  the 
case  and  of  the  human  mind.  For  it  is  not  the  part 
of  a  rational  being  to  give  more  for  less.  If  you 
bargain  away  any  thing  to  your  neighbour,  you,  of 
course,  seek  from  him  what  to  you  is  equivalent. 
But  how  are  you  to  judge  of  this  equivalency; 
of  the  value,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  article  offered 
to  you  ?     There    are    two  grounds   on    which    you 


24        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

may  judge.  You  may  know  the  article  as  well  as  the 
seller,  you  may  know  as  much  about  it ;  every  way, 
as  he  does.  This  is  ordinarily  the  case  between 
trader  and  trader.  But  between  the  merchant  and 
the  rest  of  the  world,  this  is  usually  not  the  case.  And 
here  the  ground  on  which  you  proceed  is,  that  of  confi- 
dence in  the  good  faith  of  the  seller.  You  could  make 
up  no  satisfactory  opinion  on  the  value  of  the  article 
offered  to  you,  if  you  did  believe  that  it  is  what  it 
purports  to  be,  what  it  appears  to  be,  what  the  price 
indicates  it  to  be.  If,  then,  there  is  any  secret  defect 
in  the  article  not  apparent  to  you,  or  if  there  is  any 
circumstance  unknown  to  you,  materially  affecting 
its  value,  or  if  the  price  set  upon  it  is  any  other  than 
the  market  price,  there  is  fraud.  Wherever  the  con- 
tracting parties  stand  in  totally  different  relations  to 
the  matter  in  hand,  the  one  knowing  something — 
some  secret,  which  the  other  does  not  and  can- 
not know,  there  is  fraud.  The  contract  is  morally 
vitiated.  The  obvious  conditions  of  a  contract  are 
not  complied  with.  It  is  well  known  by  one  of  the  par- 
ties that  the  grand  condition — that  of  equivalency — 
does  not  exist  in  the  case. 

Let  us  now  look  back,  for  a  moment,  upon  the 
ground  which  we  have  passed  over  in  this  preliminary 
discussion.  I  have,  in  the  first  place,  attempted  to 
show  that  no  single  suggestion  or  dictate  of  con- 
science, or  scripture,  or  of  generous  feeling,  or  of  the 
law,  is  sufficient  to  solve  the  moral  questions  that 
arise  in  trade.  In  the  next  place,  I  have  said  that 
there  is  a  distinction  to  be  made  between  principles 
and  rules ;  the  principles  of  moral  conduct  being  clear 
and  certain ;  the  rules  only,  the  specific  actions  under 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.        25 

Xhese  principles,  that  is  to  say — being  liable  to  doubt. 
I  thus  wished  to  set  one  department  of  this  subject 
above  all  question.  In  the  third  place,  I  applied  my- 
self to  the  consideration  of  rules.  And  here  I  attempt- 
ed to  show  that  while,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  expedi- 
ent that  ample  scope  be  given  to  human  ingenuity, 
sagacity  and  alertness  in  business,  yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  they  are  never  to  transgress  the  bounds  of 
philanthropy,  honesty  and  justice. 

Let  us  now  proceed  to  examine  some  of  the  cases 
to  which  these  general  reasonings  apply. 

I.    The  first  is  the  ordinary  case  of  buying  and 
selling,  i.  e.  under  ordinary  circumstances. 

And  here,  it  is  expedient  and  necessary,  that  men 
in  their  dealings  with  one  another  should  be  put  to  the 
use  of  their  senses  and  faculties.     There  is  a  discre 
tion  and  there  is  a  duty  proper,  respectively,  to  the 
seller  and  to  the  buyer.     Each  of  them  has  his  par 
to  act,  his  business  to  attend  to,  and  neither  of  then, 
is  bound  to  assume  the  duty  of  the  other.     In  ord- 
nary  cases  there  is  no  difficulty  with  this  maxim,  n 
temptation  to  dishonesty,  no  possibility  of  deception. 

The  article  is  open  to  inspection ;  its  qualities  ai 
as  obvious  to  the  buyer  as  to  the  seller.    The  buyer  i- 
supposed  to  know  his  own  business,  his  own  occa 
sions ;  the  buyer  is  fairly  supposed  best  to  know  wha 
the  article  is  worth  to  him,  not  the  seller ;  and  it  is  fc  i 
him  to  decide,  whether  he  will  purchase,  and  what  h 
will  give.   The  seller  cannot  be  expected  to  enter  int 
the  circumstances  of  the  buyer,  and  to  ascertain  b\ 
inquiry  what  he  intends  to  do  with  the  article  he  pu 
chases;  whether  he  can  turn  it  to  good  account ;  or  wh 
ther  he  could  not  buy  more  advantageously  somewhe. 

3 


26        THE  MORAL  LAW  OP  CONTRACTS. 

else ;  all  this  belongs  to  the  province  of  the  buyer ;  it 
is  his  business  to  settle  all  these  questions.  And  he  is 
not  only  best  able  to  decide  them,  but  he  is  as  competent 
to  judge  of  the  quality  of  the  goods  which  are  offered 
him,  as  the  seller,  for  they  are  alike  open  to  the  in- 
spection of  both. 

This  free  action,  this  competition,  we  have  already 
said,  is  to  be  restrained  in  trade  as  in  every  thing  else, 
by  perfect  fairness  and  honesty.  At  that  point  in  our 
preliminary  discussion,  the  theoretical  question  about 
the  nature  of  a  contract  presented  itself;  in  our 
present  inquiry,  the  natural  and  practical  question  is 
about  price.  What  is  the  just  price  of  an  article?  A 
man  has  something  to  sell ;  he  wishes  to  deal  honest- 
ly ;  the  question  then  is,  what  shall  he  ask  for  it  ?  If 
he  can  settle  this  question,  all  is  plain.  How  shall  he 
settle  it  1  What  is  it  that  determines  a  price  to  be  just  ? 
Evidently,  not  any  abstract  consideration  of  value. 
There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  abstract  value.  The 
worth  of  a  thing  depends  on  the  want  of  it.  Original- 
ly, it  is  true ;  i.  e.  in  the  first  rude  state  of  society, 
men,  in  exchanging  the  products  of  their  labor,  would 
naturally  estimate  the  value  of  each  article  by  the  la- 
bour required  to  produce  it.  But  even  this  estimate, 
though  approaching  nearest  to  it,  would  not  present 
us  with  an  abstract  and  absolute  value  ;  and  it  would 
soon  be  disturbed  by  circumstances,  effectually  and 
beyond  recovery.  Labor  would  not  be  an  accurate 
measure  of  value,  because  one  man's  labor,  through 
its  energy  and  ingenuity,  would  be  worth  far  more 
than  another  man's.  That  primitive  rule,  too,  in- 
accurate as  it  is,  would  soon,  I  repeat,  be  disturbed 
by  circumstances.     For,  suppose  that  one  man  had 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS.  27 

manufactured  axes  and  another,  shoes ;  circumstances 
would  inevitably  arise  that  would  give  one  or  ano- 
ther of  these  articles,  a  factitious  value.  In  the  winter 
season  when  protection  was  needed  for  the  person, 
and  in  the  summer  which  was  favorable  to  the  felling 
of  timber,  the  value  of  those  articles  must  be  con- 
stantly fluctuating  ;  it  would  be  factitious ;  it  could  not 
be  determined  by  the  amount  of  labor.  And  as  we 
depart  farther  from  those  primitive  exchanges,  we  find 
circumstances,  numerous,  complicated  and  very  arti- 
ficial, which  affect  value.  The  wants,  fancies  and 
fashions  of  society ;  the  state  of  crops  and  markets, 
and  of  trade  all  over  the  world  ;  the  variations  of  the 
seasons  ;  the  success  or  failure  of  fisheries  ;  improve- 
ments in  machinery ;  discoveries  in  art ;  and  the  regu- 
lations of  governments — all  these  things  and  many 
more,  conspire  alternately  to  fix  and  disturb  from  day 
to  day,  that  ever  fluctuating  thing  called  price.  It  is 
not  any  one  man's  judgment  or  conscience  that  can 
ascertain  the  value  of  any  thing,  but  millions  of  indivi- 
dual judgments  go  to  make  up  the  decision.  It  is  in 
vain  to  say  that  such  and  such  things  are  worth  little 
or  nothing ;  that  they  are  unnecessary  or  useless,  or 
that  they  confer  no  advantage  proportionate  to  their 
cost — that  is  not  the  question.  What  will  they  fetch'? 
is  the  question.  You  may,  in  a  fit  of  generosity,  or 
a  scruple  of  conscience,  sell  them  for  less ;  but  the  mo- 
ment they  are  out  of  your  hands,  they  will  rise  to  the 
level  of  the  market ;  you  have  lost  the  difference,  and 
gained  nothing  for  your  generous  principle.  In  fine, 
the  value  of  a  thing  is  the  market  price  of  it.  This  is 
the  only  intelligible  idea  of  value ;  and  the  only 
reasonable  adjustment  of  price.     It  is  certainly  most 


28        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS, 

'ikely  to  be  reasonable  ;  for  a  multitude  of  judgments 
have  been  employed  upon  it,  and  have  settled  it.  It  is 
the  legislative  voice  of  the  whole  world  ;  and  it  would 
be  as  unjust  and  inexpedient  as  it  is  impossible,  to 
resist  it. 

The  way  of  honesty,  then,  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
traffic,  seems  to  be  very  clear.  The  terms  on  which 
we  are  to  buy  and  sell,  are  established  for  us  by  a 
very  obvious  rule.  In  a  general  view,  we  may  say, 
that  conscience  has  nothing  to  do  with  affixing  a  price. 
That  is  determined  by  a  thousand  circumstances  and 
a  million  voices.  The  trader  must  buy  at  the  market 
price,  and  he  must  sell  accordingly.  He  does  not  de- 
termine the  price,  but  the  suffrage  of  a  whole  city  or 
of  twenty  cities,  determines  it.  All  that  conscience  has 
to  do  with  price  therefore  is,  not  to  go  beyond  the  usage 
of  the  market.  And  for  the  rest,  the  rule  is,  to  make 
no  false  representation,  and  to  conceal  no  latent  defect. 

In  this  view,  the  'moral  course  in  almost  the  entire 
business  of  trade,  seems  to  be  exceedingly  plain ;  and 
certainly  it  is  most  grateful  to  reflect  that  it  is  so.  He 
that  runs  may  read.  No  man  needs  to  carry  with 
him,  in  regard  to  most  of  the  transactions  of  business, 
a  disturbed  or  a  doubtful  conscience. 

But  still  cases  will  arise  for  a  nicer  casuistry.  The 
market  price  is  indeed  the  rule ;  but  there  is  monopoly 
that  makes  a  market  price,  and  there  is  superior  in- 
formation that  takes  undue  advantage  of  it.  These 
are  the  cases  that  remain  to  be  examined. 

II.  The  next  case,  then,  to  be  considered  in  the 
morals  of  business,  is  monopoly.  This  may  arise  in 
t  *vo  ways  ;  intentionally,  from  combination  on  the  part 
of  several  traders,  or  a  plan  on  the  part  of  one  ;  and 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACT8.         29 

unintentionally,  where  it  falls  out  in  the  natural  and 
unforeed  course  of  trade.  It  is  from  confounding 
these  two  cases  together,  perhaps,  that  a  peculiar  pre- 
judice is  felt  in  the  community  against  monopoly. 
That  a  man  should  set  himself  by  dexterous  manage- 
ment to  get  into  his  possession  all  the  corn  in  market, 
in  order  to  extort  an  enormous  price  for  it,  is  felt  to 
be  oppressive  and  wrong.  But  there  is  often  a  mono- 
poly, to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  resulting  from  simple 
scarcity ;  and  in  this  case,  that  enhancement  of  price 
which  is  so  odious,  is  perfectly  inevitable.  Nay,  it 
may  be  even  beneficial.  For  high  prices  lessen  con- 
sumption, and  may  prevent  famine.  But  at  any  rate, 
high  prices  in  a  time  of  scarcity  are  inevitable.  Even 
if  all  the  corn,  or  all  the  coal  were  in  the  hands  of  one 
man ;  and  he  should  sell  the  half  of  his  stock  to  the 
wholesale  dealers  at  a  moderate  rate,  and  hold  the  re- 
mainder at  the  same  rate  to  keep  the  price  down,  still, 
I  say,  the  moment  the  article  left  his  hands,  the  law  of 
scarcity  would  prevail  and  raise  the  price.  Mono- 
poly, therefore,  compels,  and  of  course,  justifies  an 
enhanced  price.  The  same  principle  which  applies  to 
every  other  commodity,  applies  to  that  commodity 
called  money.  And  it  is  only  from  the  habit  of  consid- 
ering money  not  as  a  commodity,  but  as  a  possession 
of  some  peculiar  and  magical  value,  that  any  prejudice 
can  exist  against  what  is  called  usurious  interest; 
saving  and  excepting  when  that  interest  goes  beyond 
all  bounds  of  reason  and  humanity.  The  practice  of 
usury  has  acquired  a  bad  name  from  former  and  still 
occasional  abuses  of  it.  But  the  principle  must  still 
be  a  just  one,  that  money,  in  common  with  every  thing 
else,  is  worth  what  it  will  fetch. 
3* 


30 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OP    CONTRACTS. 


This,  I  know,  is  denied.  It  is  denied,  especially, 
that  money  is,  or  is  to  be  regarded,  like  other  commo- 
dities in  trade.  It  is  said  that  money  is  the  creature 
of  the  government ;  that  the  mint,  when  stamping  it 
with  the  government  impress,  stamps  it  with  a  pe- 
culiar character,  and  separates  it  entirely  from  the 
general  condition  of  a  commodity.  It  is  said,  too,  that 
the  common  representative  of  money — that  the  bank- 
note— that  credit,  in  other  words — is  exposed  to  such 
expansion  and  contraction,  and  management  and  con- 
spiracy, that  it  is  peculiarly  liable  to  be  used  for  the 
injury  of  the  necessitous  and  unwary. 

Let  us  separate  this  last  allegation  from  our  discus- 
sion for  a  moment,  and  consider  the  question  alone, 
as  it  affects  the  use  of  money  in  the  form  of  bullion. 
And  I  know  of  no  better  way  of  considering  ques- 
tions of  this  sort,  than  to  resolve  them  into  their  sim- 
ple forms,  by  going  back  to  the  origin  of  society,  or 
taking  for  example,  a  small  and  isolated  community. 
At  least,  we  come  to  the  theory  of  the  questions  by 
this  means,  and  can  then  consider  what  modifica- 
tions are  required  by  more  artificial  and  complicated 
interests. 

Suppose  then  a  community  of  an  hundred  families, 
cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  engaged  in  the  va- 
rious callings  of  life,  accustomed  to  barter,  but  not  ac- 
customed to  the  use  of  money.  Suppose,  now,  that  a 
gold-mine  were  discovered.  The  metal  is  found  to 
be  very  valuable  for  various  purposes ;  and,  like  every 
thing  else,  it  takes  its  value  in  the  market ;  an  ounce 
of  it  is  exchanged  for  so  many  bushels  of  corn  or 
yards  of  cloth.  But  the  permanent  and  universal 
value  of  this  metal,  and  its  being  so  portable  and  hide- 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OP  CONTRACTS.         31 

structible,  would,  ere  long,  very  naturally  bring  it  into 
use  as  a  circulating  medium  ;  the  farmer  would  know 
that  if  he  sold  corn  for  it,  he  could  buy  cloth  with  it 
in  another  part  of  the  district,  and  would  be  glad  thus 
to  be  saved  the  trouble  and  expense  of  transporting 
the  produce  of  his  farm  to  the  distant  manufactory. 
In  this  exchange,  the  lumps  of  gold  of  course  would 
be  weighed,  and  it  would  be  natural  to  stamp  the 
weight  upon  each  lump.  But  another  step  would  fol- 
low from  all  this.  As  there  would  be  the  trouble  of 
constantly  weighing  this  circulating  medium,  and  the 
danger  of  mistake  and  deception,  the  community  would 
appoint  a  committee,  or  depute  its  government,  if  it 
had  one,  to  do  this  very  thing ;  and  the  metal  would 
be  cast  into  various  quantities,  bearing  distinct  denom- 
inations, to  answer  more  fully  the  purposes  of  a  con- 
venient circulating  medium.  Here,  then,  we  have  a 
mint,  and  here  we  have  money.  Nobody  will  deny 
that  it  was  a  commodity  when  each  man  dug  it  from 
the  earth,  and  exchanged  it  at  his  pleasure.  But  the 
action  of  the  government  confers  no  peculiar  charac- 
ter on  it.  The  government  simply  weighs  the  metal, 
and  affixes,  as  it  were,  a  label  to  it ;  i.  e.,  stamps  it  as 
coin,  to  tell  what  it  is  worth.  It  does  not  create  this 
value,  but  simply  indicates  it. 

I  am  sensible  that  many  questions  may  still  be  ask- 
ed, but  I  have  not  space  here,  if  I  had  ability,  to  enter 
into  them  ;  and  besides,  if  this  is  just  theory  of  the 
value  of  the  specie  currency,  it  may  itself  suggest  the 
necessary  answers.  But  the  great  practical  difficulties 
arise  from  the  use  of  a  paper  currency.  If  the  paper 
were  strictly  the  representative  of  gold  and  silver — if 
the  issue  of  bank-notes  did  not  exceed  the  specie  actu- 


32        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

ally  in  vault,  and  thus  were  used  only  for  convenience, 
the  same  principles  would  apply  as  before.  All  other 
paper  does  not  represent  money  but  credit ;  i.  e.,  it 
represents  the  presumed  ability  of  a  man  to  pay  what 
he  promises  ;  not  his  known  and  ascertained  property. 
And  the  question  is,  may  credit  be  bought  and  sold  in 
the  market  like  any  commodity  ? 

Let  us  again  attempt  to  simplify  the  question.  You 
want  money,  let  us  suppose,  and  you  go  to  a  money- 
lender, and  ask  for  it.  He  says,  "  I  have  not  the  mon- 
ey, but  I  shall  have  it  a  month  hence,  and  I  will  give 
my  note,  payable  at  that  time."  This  may  answer  the 
purpose  with  your  creditor,  and  the  question  now  is, 
what  interest  shall  you  pay?  Shall  credit  take  its 
place  in  the  market  like  money,  or  like  a  commodity  ? 
Shall  we  say  that  the  government  has  no  business  to 
interfere  in  this  matter,  with  its  usury  laws,  obliging  a 
man  to  sell  his  paper  for  seven  per  cent.  ?  Shall  we 
say  that  all  this  ought  to  be  left  to  regulate  itself,  and 
that  every  man  shall  be  left  free  to  act  according  to 
his  pleasure? 

I  certainly  feel  some  hesitation,  from  deference  for 
the  opinions  of  some  able  men  who  are  more  studious 
in  these  matters  than  I  am,  about  answering  this  ques- 
tion in  the  affirmative.  There  are  relations  and  bear- 
ings of  that  immense  and  complicated  subject,  the 
monetary  system,  which  I  may  not  understand,  and 
usury,  perhaps,  is  connected  with  that  system  in  ways 
that  are  beyond  my  comprehension.  But  looking  at 
the  question  now,  in  the  light  of  simple  justice,  sepa- 
rating all  unlawful  combination  and  conspiracy  from 
the  case,  and  all  deception  and  dishonesty — I  cannot 
see  why  a  man  has  not  a  right  to  sell  his   credit  for 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS.  U3 

what  another  is  willing  to  give  for  it.  If  a  lawyer  has 
so  elevated  himself  above  his  brethren,  that  his  opinion 
is  worth  not  twenty  but  five  hundred  per  cent  more 
than  theirs,  he  takes  that  advance  for  his  counsel. 
Why  then,  shall  not  a  merchant,  who  by  the  same  la- 
borious means,  has  acquired  a  fortune  and  a  high 
commercial  reputation,  be  allowed  a  similar  advan- 
tage? 

We  say,  why  should  he  not  dispose  of  his  credit,  or 
in  other  words,  pledge  his  property  at  such  prices  as 
it  will  naturally  bear  ?  But  the  truth  is,  that  he  can- 
not prevent  this  result,  let  him  do  what  he  will.  He 
may  sell  his  paper  at  one  half  per  cent  a  month,  but  the 
moment  it  is  out  of  his  hands,  it  will  rise  to  two  or 
three  per  cent,  if  that  be  its  real  value.  I  say  nothing 
now  about  obedience  to  the  usury  laws ;  I  do  not 
touch  the  point  of  conscience  in  that  respect ;  but  I 
believe  that  the  laws  themselves  are  both  impolitic  and 
unjust;  unjust,  because  they  conflict  with  the  real 
value  of  things ;  and  impolitic,  because  they  never 
were,  and  never  can  be  executed,  and  in  fact,  because 
they  only  increase  the  rates  of  interest  by  increasing 
the  risk. 

But  is  there,  then,  no  limit  it  may  be  said,  to  the 
advantage  which  one  man  may  take  of  the  necessities 
of  another?  To  ask  this  question  in  regard  to  the 
lender  of  money,  is  but  the  same  thing  as  to  ask  it  in 
regard  to  the  man,  in  every  other  relationship  of  life. 
The  duties  of  humanity,  of  philanthropy,  of  natural 
affection  can  never  be  abrogated  by  any  circum- 
stances, and  the  only  question  is,  what  line  of  conduct 
in  the  case  before  us,  is  conformable  to  those  duties. 
That  question  cannot,  I  think,  be  brought  within  the 


34  THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS. 

compass  of  any  assignable  rules ;  and  must  be  left  for 
every  man,  seriously  to  consider  for  himself.  He  is 
put  upon  his  conscience  in  this  respect,  as  he  is  in  every 
other  case  in  life. 

III.  But  the  hardest  case  to  determine,  is  that  on 
which  the  question  is  raised,  about  the  use  of  superior 
information.  And  perhaps  this  question  cannot  be  bet- 
ter stated  than  in  the  celebrated  case  put  by  Cicero.* 
A  corn  merchant  of  Alexandria,  he  says,  arrived  at 
Rhodes  in  a  time  of  great  scarcity,  with  a  cargo  of 
grain,  and  with  knowledge  that  a  number  of  other 
vessels  laden  with  corn,  had  already  sailed  from  Alex- 
andria for  Rhodes,  and  which  he  had  passed  on  the 
passage — was  he  bound  in  conscience  to  inform  the 
buyers  of  that  fact?  Cicero  decides  that  he  was. 
Several  modern  writers  on  law  dissent  from  his 
opinion — as  Grotius,  PufTendorf,  and  Pothier  himself, 
though  with  very  careful  qualifications,  f 

It  appears  to  me,  that  the  answer  to  Cicero's  ques- 
tion, must  depend  on  the  views  which  are  taken  of  a 
contract.  If  a  contract  is  a  mere  arbitrary  conven- 
tion, if  business  is  a  game,  a  mere  contest  of  men's 
wits,  if  every  man  has  a  right  to  make  the  best  bar- 
gain he  can,  if  society  really  has  power  to  ordain 
that  such  shall  be  the  laws  of  trade,  then  the  decision 
will  be  one  way.  But  if  a  contract  implies  in  its  very 
nature  the  obligation  of  fair  dealing  and  truth-telling, 
then  the  decision  will  be  the  other  way.  The  suppo- 
sition is,  that  the  Alexandrine  trader  concealed  a  cer- 
tain fact,  for  the  sake  of  asking  a  price  which  he  knew 

*  De  Officiis,  Lib.  3.   Sec.  12-17. 

f  Trait6  du  Contrat  de  vente,  Part.  II,  ch,  2.   Art  3. 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OP  CONTRACTS.         35 

would  not  have  been  given,  had  that  fact  been  public 
Now  what  is  implied  in  asking  a  price  ?  What  does 
a  man  say,  when  he  sets  a  certain  price  on  his  mer- 
chandise ?  Does  he,  or  does  he  not  say,  that  the  price 
he  asks  is,  in  his  opinion,  the  fair  value  of  the  article  ? 
I  think  he  does.  If  you  did  not  so  understand  him, 
you  would  not  trade  with  him.  If  you  observed  a 
lurking  sneer  on  his  lip,  such  as  there  must  be  in  his 
heart,  when  he  knows  that  he  is  taking  you  in,  you 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  The  very  trans- 
action, called  a  contract,  implies  that  degree  of  good 
faith.  If  this  be  true,  if  it  is  universally  understood 
that  he  who  asks  a  price,  professes  in  that  very  act  to 
ask  a  just  and  fair  price,  and  if,  moreover,  he  has  a  let- 
ter in  his  pocket  assuring  and  satisfying  him  that  it  is 
not  the  just  price  ;  then  he  is  guilty  of  falsehood.  If 
the  Alexandrine  trader  had  asked  a  price,  graduated 
exactly  by  his  opinion  of  the  probability  that  other  ves- 
sels would  soon  arrive,  and  of  the  amount  of  the  sup- 
ply they  would "  bring,  his  conduct  would  have  been 
fair  and  honest.  But  if  he  had  concealed  facts  within 
his  knowledge,  for  the  sake  of  asking  an  enormous 
price,  or  any  price  beyond  what  he  knew  to  be  the 
fair  value,  he  would  be  guilty  of  falsehood  and  dis- 
honesty. And  the  reason  is,  I  repeat,  that  the  very 
basis  of  a  contract  is  mutual  advantage  ;  that  its  very 
essence  lies  in  a  supposed  equivalency  ;  that  he  who 
sets  a  price  is  understood  to  say  as  much  as  this,  "  I 
think  the  article  is  worth  it."  And  if  you  allow  a  man 
to  swerve  from  this  truth  and  good  faith  at  all,  where 
will  you  stop  1  Suppose  that  the  people  of  Rhodes 
had  been  suffering  the  horrors  of  famine,  and  the 
Alexandrine  merchant  had  taken  advantage  of  their 


36  THE    MORAL   LAW    OP    CONTRACTS. 

situation  to  exact  from  them  all  their  disposable  proper- 
ty as  the  price  of  life,  and  had  borne  off  that  mass  of 
treasure,  all  the  while  knowing  that  bountiful  supplies 
were  at  hand — what  should  we  have  said  ?  We  should 
have  said  that  his  perfidy  was  equal  to  his  cruelty— ^ 
that  he  was  both  a  pirate  and  a  villain.  But  if  a  man 
may  be  guilty  of  falsehood  in  one  degree,  what  prin- 
ciple is  to  prevent  his  being  guilty  of  it  in  another  ?  I 
know  what  may  be  said  on  the  other  hand.  The  mas- 
ter of  the  Alexandrine  ship,  it  may  be  said,  had  outstrip- 
ped the  others,  by  superior  sailing ;  and  this  superiority, 
in  the  management  of  his  ship,  may  have  been  the 
fruit  of  a  whole  life  of  industry  and  ingenuity.  He 
had  also  been  on  the  alert,  it  may  be  supposed  ;  had 
watched  the  course  of  the  markets  while  others  slept, 
and  had  been  ready  with  his  supply  to  meet  the  ex- 
igency which  all  others — even  the  Rhodians  them- 
selves, had  been  too  dull  to  foresee.  Is  he  not  entitled 
to  some  premium  for  all  this?  Nay,  but  for  the  pros- 
pect held  out  of  such  a  reward,  the  Rhodians  might 
have  starved.  And  yet  if  he  gives  the  information  in 
question,  he  loses  the  premium.  No,  the  merchants 
of  Rhodes  say,  "  we  will  wait  till  to-morrow."  But 
again ;  to-morrow  comes ;  the  vessels  arrive  ;  the  mar- 
ket is  glutted ;  and  the  Alexandrine  trader  loses  mon- 
ey on  his  voyage.  Will  the  merchants  of  Rhodes 
make  it  up  to  him,  on  account  of  his  generosity  in 
giving  them  the  information  ?  Not  at  all.  "  We  buy 
at  the  market  price,"  they  say  ;  "  we  cannot  afford  any 
more  ;  if  we  give  more  we  are  losers ;"  and  thus  the 
Alexandrine  by  neglecting  his  oWn  interests,  and  tak- 
ing care  of  other  people,  loses  not  only  his  voyage,  but 
his  whole  fortune  perhaps,  and  becomes  a  bankrupt ; 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.         37 

and  by  becoming  a  bankrupt,  he  injures  those  he  is  most 
bound  to  serve — his  confiding  friends,  and  beggared 
family.  All  this  is  a  very  good  reason,  to  be  sure,  why 
the  Alexandrine  trader  should  be  rewarded  for  his 
exertions,  but  it  is  not  any  good  reason,  nor  can  there 
ever  be  any  good  reason,  why  a  man  should  tell  a 
falsehood,  why  he  should  make  a  false  impression, 
why  he  should  deceive  his  neighbor. 

Do  we  then  propose  to  reduce  the  wise  and  the  ig- 
norant, the  sagacious  and  the  stupid,  the  attentive  and 
the  negligent,  the  active  and  the  indolent,  to  the  same 
level  ?  Must  the  intelligent  and  the  enterprising 
merchant  raise  up  his  dull  and  careless  neighbor,  to 
his  own  point  of  view,  before  he  may  deal  with  him  ? 
Certainly  not.  Let  a  wide  field  be  opened,  only  pro- 
vided that  the  boundaries  be  truth  and  honesty.  Let 
the  widest  field  for  activity  and  freedom  of  action  be 
spread,  which  these  boundaries  can  enclose. 

Indeed,  a  man  must  act  in  trade  upon  some  opinion. 
That  opinion  must  be  founded  on  some  knowledge. 
And  that  knowledge  he  may  properly  seek.  Nay,  and 
he  may  use  it,  to  any  extent,  not  implying  deception  or 
dishonesty.  Nor  are  the  cases  frequent,  in  which  com- 
mercial operations  possess  any  such  definite  or  extra- 
ordinary character,  as  admits  of  deception.  It  does 
not  often  happen  that  any  great  advantage  is,  or  can 
be  taken  of  complete  and  unsuspecting  ignorance. 
Men  are  wary.  They  will  not  make  questionable 
sales,  when  a  packet  ship  from  abroad  is  in  the  of- 
fing. They  are  set  to  guard  their  own  interests,  and 
they  do  guard  them.  They  must  assume  some  re- 
sponsibilities in  this  way  ;  they  must  take  some  risks. 
They  are  liable  to  err  in  opinion,  and  they  must  take 

4 


38  THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS. 

Such  chance  as  human  imperfection  ordains  for  them. 
Business,  like  every  other  scene  of  human  life,  is  a 
theatre  for  imperfection,  for  error,  for  effort,  for  opin- 
ion, and  for  their  results.  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  pos- 
sibly be  otherwise,  and  therefore,  I  consider  it  as  ap- 
pointed to  be  so.  Undue  advantage  may  be  taken  of 
this  state  of  things  by  the  selfish,  grasping,  and  uncon- 
scientious ;  right  principles  may  be  wrested  to  the  ac- 
complishment of  wrong  ends  ;  a  system  of  commer- 
cial morality  may  be  good  for  the  community,  and  yet 
may  be  abused  by  individuals :  all  this  is  true ;  and 
yet  the  doctrine  which  applies  every  where  else  must 
apply  here,  that  abuse  fairly  argues  nothing  against  use. 
Let  us  see  how  the  case  would  stand  if  it  were  oth- 
erwise :  let  us  see  what  the  assumption  on  the  part  of 
the  trading  community,  that  no  man  should  ever  act  in 
any  way  on  superior  information,  would  amount  to. 
"  We  may  sleep,"  they  would  say,  "  we  need  not  take 
any  pains  to  inform  ourselves  of  the  state  of  the  mar- 
kets ;  we  need  not  take  a  step  from  our  own  door. 
If  our  neighbor  comes  to  trade  with  us,  he  must  first 
inform  us  of  every  thing  affecting  the  price  of  our 
goods.  He  makes  himself  very  busy ;  and  he  shall 
have  his  labor  for  his  pains  ;  for  the  rule  now  is,  that 
indolence  is  to  fare  as  well  as  activity,  and  vigilance  is 
to  have  no  advantage  over  supineness  and  sloth."  Sup- 
pose, then,  that  the  vigilant  and  active  man  is  up  be- 
times, and  goes  down  upon  the  wharf,  or  to  the  news- 
room, and  becomes  apprized  of  facts  that  affect  the 
price  of  his  goods ;  he  must  not  go  about  selling,  till 
he  has  stepped  into  the  shop  of  his  indolent  neighbor, 
and  perhaps,  of  half  a  dozen  such,  to  inform  them  of  the 
state  of  things  ;  for,  although  he  does  not  directly  trade 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS.  39 

with  them,  yet,  by  underselling  or  selling  for  more,  in 
consequence  of  superior  information,  he  injures  them 
just  as  much  as  if  he  did :  i.  e.,  he  takes  profits  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  slothful,  by  acting  on  his  superior  know- 
ledge. But  now  enlarge  the  sphere  of  the  compari- 
son. There  is  no  real  difference  in  the  principle  be- 
tween a  man's  going  down  to  the  wharf,  and  his  going 
to  Europe,  for  information.  And  if,  by  superior  activ- 
ity, by  building  better  ships  and  better  manning  them, 
he  is  accustomed  to  get  earlier  advices  of  the  state  of 
foreign  markets,  I  see  not,  but  as  a  general  principle, 
a  principle  advantageous  to  commerce,  and  encour- 
aging to  human  industry  and  ingenuity,  he  must  be 
allowed  to  avail  himself  of  those  advices.  The  law  of 
general  expediency  must  be  a  law  for  the  conscience. 
It  is  expedient  that  there  should  be  commerce  or  bar- 
ter ;  nay,  it  is  inevitable.  It  is  expedient  that  indus- 
try and  attention  should  be  rewarded,  and  that  negli- 
gence and  sloth  should  suffer  loss.  It  is  expedient, 
therefore,  that  all  that  sagacity,  power  and  information, 
which  are  the  result  of  superior  talent,  energy  and 
ingenuity,  should  yield  certain  advantages  to  their  pos- 
sessor. These  advantages  he  may  push  beyond  the 
bounds  of  reason  and  justice ;  but  we  must  not,  on  that 
account,  be  deterred  from  maintaining  a  principle 
which  is  right ;  a  principle  which  is  expedient  and  ne- 
cessary for  the  whole  community. 

And  is  not  the  same  principle,  in  fact,  adopted  in 
every  department  of  human  pursuit  ?  Two  men  en- 
gage in  a  certain  branch  of  manufactures.  The  one, 
by  his  attention  and  ingenuity  makes  discoveries  in  his 
art,  and  thus  gains  advantages  over  his  indolent  or 
dull   neighbor.     Is  he  obliged  to  impart   to  him  his 


40  THE    MORAL    LAW   OF    CONTRACTS. 

superior  information  ?  Two  young  men  in  the  profes- 
sion of  the  law,  are  distinguished,  the  one  for  hard 
study,  the  other  for  idleness.  They  are  engaged  in 
the  same  cause  ;  and  the  one  perceives  that  the  other 
is  making  a  false  point  in  the  case.  Is  he  obliged  to 
go  ever  to  his  brother's  office,  and  explain  to  him  his 
error ;  or  is  it  not  proper,  rather,  that  both  himself  and 
his  client  should  suffer  for  that  error,  when  the  cause 
comes  to  be  argued  in  open  court  ? 

In  fine,  I  hold  that  a  distinction  is  to  be  made  be- 
tween general  information  and  definite  knowledge. 
If  a  man  knows  that  an  article  is  worth  more  than  he 
buys  it  for,  or  less  than  he  sells  it  for,  he  does  not  act 
with  truth  and  integrity.  It  is  just  as  if  he  knew  the 
article  were  more  or  less  in  quantity  than  he  alleges  it 
to  be.  But  if  he  acts  on  general  information,  open 
alike  to  all,  if  he  acts  on  mere  opinion,  in  which  he  may 
be  mistaken,  if  he  has  no  certain  knowledge  of  the 
merchandise  in  question,  but  only  a  judgment,  he  is 
entitled  to  the  full  benefit  of  that  judgment ;  while  he  is 
liable,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  full  injury  of  it,  if  it  be 
mistaken. 

But  in  regard  to  absolute  certainty,  how,  I  would 
ask,  are  we  to  distinguish  between  knowledge  in  re- 
gard to  the  real  value  of  an  article,  from  knowledge  in 
regard  to  the  real  quality  of  an  article  ?  If  I  sell  mer- 
chandise in  which  there  is  some  secret  defect,  and  do 
not  expose  that  defect,  I  am  held  to  be  a  dishonest 
man.  But  what  matters  it  to  my  conscience,  whether 
the  secret  defect  lies  in  the  article,  or  in  the  price  ? 
It  comes  to  the  same  thing  with  my  fellow-dealer.  If 
I  were  to  sell  moth-eaten  cloths  at  four  dollars  per 
yard  more  than  they  were  worth — the  defect  known  ^ 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.         41 

to  me  and  not  to  my  neighbor — all  the  world  would 
pronounce  me  a  knave.  But  there  is  another  sort  of 
moth,  a  secret  in  my  own  keeping,  which  may  have 
as  effectually  eaten  out  four  dollars  from  every  yard 
of  that  cloth,  as  if  it  had  literally  cut  the  thread  of  the 
fabric.  What  difference  now  can  it  make  to  my 
neighbor,  whether  advantage  is  taken  of  his  ignorance 
in  one  way  or  another,  in  regard  to  the  quality  or  the 
price  ?  The  only  material  point  is  the  value,  and  that 
is  equally  affected  in  either  case.  This  is  the  only 
conclusion  to  which  I  find  myself  able,  on  much  reflec- 
tion, to  arrive.  Knowledge  of  prices  is  as  material  to 
the  value  of  merchandise,  as  knowledge  of  its  quali- 
ties. This  knowledge,  therefore,  as  it  appears  to  me, 
should  be  common  to  all  contracting  parties.  I  can- 
not think  that  a  trader  is  to  be  like  a  fisher,  disguising 
his  hook  with  bait ;  or  like  a  slight-of-hand  man,  cheat- 
ing men  out  of  their  senses  and  money  with  a  face  of 
gravity^  or  like  an  Indian,  shooting  from  behind  a 
bush,  himself  in  no  danger.  Trade,  traffic,  contracts, 
bargains — all  these  words  imply  parity,  equivalency, 
common  risk,  mutual  advantage.  And  he  who  can 
arrange  a  commercial  operation,  by  which  he  is  cer- 
tain to  realize  great  profits  and  to  inflict  great  losses, 
is  a  taker  of  merchandise,  but  can  hardly  be  said  to  be 
a  trader  in  it. 

I  am  sensible  that  this  is  the  nice  and  difficult  point 
in  the  whole  discussion.  But,  I  put  it  to  the  calm  re- 
flection and  to. the  consciences  of  my  hearers,  whether 
they  would  not  feel  easier  in  their  business,  if  all  use 
of  superior  and  certain  knowledge  were  entirely  ex- 
cluded from  it.  Long  as  this  use  has  obtained,  and 
warmly  as  it  is  sometimes  defended,  yet  I  ask,  if  the 
4* 


42  THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS. 

moral  sentiments  of  the  trading  community  itself, 
would  not  be  relieved  by  giving  it  up?  This,  if  it  be 
true,  is  certainly  a  weighty  consideration.  I  admit,  in- 
deed, as  I  have  before  done,  that  no  vague  sentiment 
is  to  settle  the  question.  But  when  I  find  that  there 
is  even  in  vague  sentiment,  something  like  a  hook 
that  holds  the  mind  in  suspense,  or  will  not  let  the 
mind  be  satisfied  with  departure  from  it,  that  circum- 
stance deserves,  I  think,  to  arrest  attention.  I  will 
frankly  confess,  that  my  own  mind  has  been  in  this 
very  situation.  I  did  not  see  at  one  time,  how  the 
case  of  general  information  and  opinion  which  it  is 
lawful  to  use,  could  be  separated  from  the  case  of 
particular  knowledge.  But  I  now  entertain  a  differ- 
ent, and  a  more  decided  opinion.  And  the  considera- 
tion, with  me,  which  has  changed  uneasiness  into  doubt, 
and  doubt  into  a  new,  and  as  I  think,  corrected  judg- 
ment, is  that  which  I  have  last  stated — it  is  the  consid- 
eration, that  is  to  say,  of  the  very  nature  of  a  contract. 
A  contract  does  not  imply  equal  powers,  equal  gen- 
eral information,  equal  shrewdness  in  the  contracting 
parties ;  but  it  does  imply,  as  it  appears  to  me,  equal 
actual  knowledge.  My  neighbor  may  think  himself 
superior  to  me  in  all  other  respects,  and  he  may  tell 
me  so,  and  yet  I  will  trade  with  him ;  we  still  stand 
upon  ground  that  I  am  willing  to  consider  equal.  But 
let  him  tell  me  that  he  knows  something  touching  the 
manufacture,  quality,  condition,  or  relations  of  the 
article  to  be  sold,  which  I  do  not  know,  and  which 
affects  the  value  of  the  article  ;  and  I  stop  upon  the 
threshold ;  we  cannot  traffic ;  there  may  be  a  game 
of  hazard  which  he  and  I  consent  to  play;  but 
there  is  an  end  of  all  trading.     If  this  be  true,  then 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACTS.  43 

the  condition  of  a  regular  and  lawful  contract  is,  that 
there  be  no  secrets  in  it ;  no  secrets,  either  in  the  kind 
or  quality  of  the  merchandise,  or  in  the  breast,  or  in 
the  pocket  of  the  dealer.  Let  them  all  be  swept 
away — let  them  be  swept  out,  all  secrets  from  all 
hiding-places,  from  all  coverts  of  subterfuge  and 
chicanery — and  this,  at  least,  I  am  certain  of,  that 
business  would  occasion  fewer  wounds  of  conscience, 
to  all  honorable  and  virtuous  communities. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    FOREGOING    DISCOURSE. 

Some  remarks  upon  the  foregoing  discourse,  which 
had  reached  the  author's  ear  during  the  weekly  in- 
terval, before  the  delivery  of  the  next  discourse,  lead 
him  before  entering  upon  it,  to  offer  the  following 
observations. 

It  may  be  thought,  that  in  my  discourse  of  the  last 
Sunday  evening,  I  have  leaned  to  a  view  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  trade,  which  is  too  indulgent  to  its  question- 
able practices.  I  am  most  anxious  to  guard  against 
such  an  inference;  and  yet  I  must  hesitate  to  yield 
exactly  to  the  tone  of  objection  which  may  possibly 
be  adopted  by  some  of  my  hearers.  The  pulpit  is  not 
to  speak  any  peculiar  language  on  this  subject,  because 
it  is  the  pulpit.  The  language  of  truth  is  what  we 
seek ;  the  language  which  would  be  true  any  where. 
Neither  is  the  pulpit  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  post  of 
duty,  which  is  to  serve  only  the  purpose  of  assault, 


44        THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS. 

whose  business  it  is  to  assail  any  particular  class  of 
persons,  merchants  or  others  :  nor  is  the  church  a  pro- 
per place  for  men  to  come  to,  in  order  to  enjoy  the 
gratification  of  seeing  other  men  attacked.  Nor  is  it 
the  only  business  of  the  moral  teacher,  to  denounce  the 
sins  of  a  violated  conscience  ;  it  is  sometimes  quite  as 
important  to  defend  weak  consciences.  Nothing  can 
be  worse  for  a  man  than  to  act  upon  a  principle  of 
which  he  doubts  the  correctness.  He  is  then  doing 
wrong,  even  when  the  thing  he  does  may  be  right. 
His  conscience  becomes  weakened  by  wounds  without 
cause ;  it  is  floating  on  a  sea  of  doubt,  and  may  be 
borne  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  rectitude.  It  is  thus, 
that  there  arises  in  a  community,  a  general  and  per- 
nicious habit  of  paltering  with  conscience^  of  talking 
about  certain  principles  as  very  good  in  theory,  but  as 
impracticable  in  fact,  of  slurring  over  the  Christian  rule 
with  innuendoes,  of  commending  it,  indeed,  and  in  a 
sort — but  how  ?  Why,  of  treacherously  commending 
it,  with  those  ironical  praises,  and  ambiguous  hints, 
and  knowing  glances  of  eye,  which  more  effectually 
than  any  thing  else,  break  down  all  principle. 

On  the  contrary,  let  us  come  out  fairly  and  esta- 
blish the  true  doctrine,  on  independent  grounds,  with 
fair  reasoning,  without  any  bias  against  men  of  busi- 
ness or  for  them,  and  then  shall  we  stand  upon  the 
stable  basis  of  conscience  and  principle,  and  be  able 
to  define  its  boundaries.  If  it  be  expedient  and  inevi- 
table, that  men  should,  in  business  as  in  every  thing 
else,  act  to  a  certain  extent,  upon  their  own  superior 
sagacity,  power  and  information,  let  us  plainly  say  so  ; 
and  then  let  us  faithfully  warn  them  against  going  too 
far.     Now,  nobody  doubts,  I  presume,  that  they  may 


THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    C0NTRACT8.  45 

go  too  far ;  that  the  man  of  sagacity  may  overreach 
an  idiot ;  that  the  monopolist  and  the  usurer  may 
abuse  his  power  ;  and  that  he  who  possesses  superior 
information  may  dishonestly  and  cruelly  use  it.  And, 
therefore,  it  was  less  necessary  to  insist  upon  these 
points,  than  it  was  to  discuss  the  great  question,  and 
the  only  question ;  viz.,  whether  these  advantages 
may  be  used  at  all.  If  they  may  not  be  used  at  all, 
then  all  commerce,  in  its  actual,  and  I  think,  inevitable 
procedures,  is  a  system  of  knavery.  If  it  is  not  a  sys- 
tem of  knavery,  then  it  is  important  to  defend  it  from 
that  charge.  And  it  is  the  more  important,  because, 
against  merchants,  from  their  acquiring  greater  wealth 
probably,  there  are  peculiar  prejudices  in  the  commu- 
nity. The  manufacturer  may  use  his  superior  infor- 
mation— his  particular  invention  that  is — he  may  get  a 
patent  for  it,  i.  e.,  a  monopoly,  and  every  other  pro- 
fession may  do  substantially  the  same  thing,  and  not  a 
word  is  said  against  it.  But  if  the  merchant  does  this, 
he  is  called  into  serious  question.  And  influenced  by 
this  general  distrust,  he  calls  himself  in  question  too. 
But  unfortunately  for  him,  instead  of  thinking  deeply 
upon  the  matter,  and  settling  himself  upon  some  foun- 
dation of  general  principle,  he  is  liable  to  give  himself 
up  to  the  suggestions  of  temporary  expediency.  He  is 
not  quite  satisfied,  perhaps,  with  what  he  is  doing,  and 
yet,  he  says,  that  he  must  do  it,  or  he  cannot  get 
along — a  way  of  reasoning  that  I  hold  to  be  most  in- 
jurious to  his  character.  Let  him  then,  I  say,  settle 
some  just  principle,  and  conscientiously  act  upon  it. 
They  are  general  principles,  I  must  desire  you  to 
observe,  which  I  have  attempted  to  establish.  The 
questions  that  arise   upon  the   application  of  these 


46  THE    MORAL    LAW    OF    CONTRACT*. 

principles  are,  of  course,  numerous  and  Complicated. 
I  could  not  enter  into  them.  My  inexperience  disqual- 
ified me.  And  besides,  it  was  impossible  to  meet  the 
the  questions  of  every  man's  mind.  But,  by  way  of 
guarding  against  any  false  inferences  from  what  I  have 
said,  let  me  offer  two  suggestions.  In  the  first  place,  I 
have  not  intended  to  touch  any  questions  about  cor- 
porations, or  about  combinations  and  conspiracies  to 
defraud.  My  discussion  has  been  occupied  with  sim- 
ple and  single-handed  dealings  of  man  with  man.  In 
the  next  place,  if  my  views  have  seemed  to  any  one  to 
lean  to  an  unjust  decision  of  any  case,  then,  I  say,  that 
they  are  to  be  limited  and  restrained  by  that  very  case. 
The  very  principle  I  adopt,  is  that  of  restricting  the 
fair  action  of  trade  within  the  boundaries  of  justice  and 
philanthropy. 

I  must  add,  in  fine,  that  in  defending  the  right  in 
trade,  the  impression  upon  the  popular  ear,  may  natu- 
rally enough  have  been,  that  I  have  not  sufficiently 
considered  the  wrong.  The  wrong,  let  me  observe 
here,  will  properly  come  under  our  consideration  in 
another  place.  What  I  say  now  is,  that  if  the  prin- 
ciples I  have  laid  down,  have  seemed  to  any  one  to 
verge  towards  an  undue  license,  I  must  most  earnestly 
protest  against  his  inference.  That  very  license,  I 
say,  is  the  point  to  which  the  principle  shall  not  go. 
And  I  say  more  explicitly,  that  although  the  vender  of 
any  goods  is  not  bound  to  assist  the  buyer  with  his 
judgment,  yet  that  he  is  bound  to  point  out  any  latent 
defect,  and  he  is  bound,  by  the  general  trust  reposed 
in  him  on  that  point,  to  sell  at  the  market  price  ;  and 
again,  that  monopoly,  whether  of  money  or  other  com- 
modities, although  it  must  inevitably  raise  the  prices, 


THE  MORAL  LAW  OF  CONTRACTS.        47 

although  it  must  be  governed  in  all  ordinary  cases,  by 
the  market  value,  yet  when  it  can  control  the  market 
price,  is  bound  to  use  its  power  with  moderation  ;  and 
finally,  that  he  who  acts  upon  superior  information, 
though  he  may  lawfully  do  so,  shall  not  press  his  ad- 
vantage to  the  extent  of  any  fraudulent  use,  or  to  the 
infliction  of  any  gross  and  undeserved  injury — that  he 
shall  not  press  it  farther  than  is  necessary,  reasonably 
to  reward  vigilance  and  admonish  indolence — that  he 
shall  not  press  it  farther  than  the  wholesome  action  of 
trade,  and  the  true  welfare  of  the  whole  community, 
requires. 


48 


DISCOURSE   II. 

ON    THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 


PROVERBS  XX.  15.     There  is   gold  and  a  multitude  of 

RUBIES,  BUT  THE    LIPS  OF  KNOWLEDGE,  (i.  E.  OF  RECTITUDE,)  IS 
A  PRECIOUS  JEWEL. 

My  subject  this  evening  is  the  moral  end  of  busi- 
ness. Let  me  first  attempt  to  define  my  meaning  in 
the  use  of  this  phrase — the  moral  end  of  business. 

It  is  not  the  end  for  which  property  should  be 
sought.  It  is  not  the  moral  purpose  to  be  answered 
by  the  acquisition,  but  by  the  process  of  acquisition. 
And  again,  it  is  not  the  end  of  industry  in  general — 
that  is  a  more  comprehensive  subject — but  it  is  the  end 
of  business  in  particular,  of  barter,  of  commerce. 
"  The  end  of  business  ?"  some  one  may  say,  "  why,  the 
end  of  business  is  to  obtain  property  ;  the  end  of  the 
process  of  acquisition  is  acquisition."  If  I  addressed 
any  person  whose  mind  had  not  gone  behind  that 
ready  and  obvious  answer  to  ultimate  and  deeper  rea- 
sons, I  should  venture  to  say,  that  a  revelation  is  to  be 
maMe  to  him,  of  a  more  exalted  aim  in  business,  of  a 
higher,  and  at  the  same  time,  more  perilous  scene  of 
action  in  its  pursuits,  than  he  has  yet  imagined.  In 
other  words,  I  hold  that  the  ultimate  end  of  all  busi- 
ness is  a  moral  end.     I  believe  that  business — I  mean 


TIIE    MORAL    END   OF    BUSINESS.  49 

not  labor  but  barter,  traffic — would  never  have  exist- 
ed, if  there  had  been  no  end  but  sustenance.  The 
animal  races  obtain  subsistence  upon  an  easier  and 
simpler  plan ;  but  for  man  there  is  a  higher  end,  and 
that  is  moral. 

The  broad  grounds  of  this  position  I  find  in  the  ob- 
vious designs  of  Providence,  and  in  the  evident  adap- 
tation to  this  moral  end,  of  business  itself. 

There  is,  then,  a  design  for  which  all  things  were 
made  and  ordained,  going  beyond  the  things  them- 
selves. To  say  that  things  were  made,  or  that  the 
arrangements  and  relations  of  things  were  ordained, 
for  their  own  sake,  is  a  proposition  without  meaning. 
The  world,  its  structure,  productions,  laws  and  events, 
have  no  good  nor  evil  in  them — none,  but  as  they  pro- 
duce these  results,  in  the  experience  of  living  crea- 
tures. The  end,  then,  of  the  inanimate  creation,  is  the 
welfare  of  the  living,  and,  therefore,  especially  of  the 
intelligent  creation.  But  the  welfare  of  human  beings 
lies  essentially  in  their  moral  culture.  All  is  wrong, 
every  where,  if  all  is  not  right  there.  All  of  design, 
that  there  is  in  this  lower  creation,  presses  upon  that 
point.  The  universe  is  a  moral  chaos  without  that  de- 
sign, and  it  is  a  moral  desolation  to  every  mind  in 
which  that  design  is  not  accomplished.  Life,  then,  has 
an  ultimate  purpose.  We  are  not  appointed  to  pass 
through  this  life,  barely  that  we  may  live.  We  are  not 
impelled,  both  by  disposition  and  necessity,  to  buy  and 
sell,  barely  that  we  may  do  it ;  nor  to  get  gain,  barely 
that  we  may  get  it.  There  is  an  end  in  business  be- 
yond supply.  There  is  an  object,  in  the  acquisition  of 
wealth,  beyond  success.  There  is  a  final  cauee  of 
human  traffic  ;  and  that  is  virtue. 

5 


50  THE    MORAL    END   OP    BUSINESS. 

With  this  view  of  the  moral  end  of  business,  falls  in 
the  constant  doctrine  of  all  elevated  philosophy  and 
true  religion.  Life,  say  the  expounders  of  every 
creed,  is  a  probation.  The  circumstances  in  which 
we  are  placed — the  events,  the  scenes  of  our  mortal 
lot — the  bright  visions  that  cheer  us,  the  dark  clouds 
that  overshadow  us — all  these  are  not  an  idle  show, 
nor  do  they  exist  for  themselves  alone,  nor  because 
they  must  exist  by  the  fiat  of  some  blind  chance  ;  but 
they  have  a  purpose ;  and  that  purpose  is  expressed 
in  the  word,  probation.  Now,  if  any  thing  deserves  to 
be  considered  as  a  part  of  that  probation,  it  is  busi- 
ness. Life,  say  the  wise,  is  a  school.  In  this  school 
there  are  lessons  ;  toil  is  a  lesson ;  trial  is  a  lesson  ; 
and  business,  too,  is  a  lesson.  But  the  end  of  a  lesson 
is,  that  something  be  learned.  And  the  end  of  busi- 
ness is,  that  truth,  rectitude,  virtue,  be  learned.  This 
is  the  ultimate  design  proposed  by  Heaven,  and  it  is  a 
design  which  every  wise  man,  engaged  in  that  calling, 
will  propose  to  himself.  It  is  no  extravagance,  there- 
fore, but  the  simple  assertion  of  a  truth,  to  say  to  a  man 
so  engaged,  and  to  say  emphatically, "  You  have  an  end 
to  gain  beyond  success  ;  and  that  is  the  moral  rectitude 
of  your  own  mind.,, 

That  business  is  so  exquisitely  adapted  to  accomplish 
that  purpose,  is  another  argument  with  me  to  prove  that 
such  is  the  intention  of  its  Ordainer,  was  its  design. 
I  can  conceive  that  things  might  have  been  ordered 
otherwise  ;  that  human  beings  might  have  been  formed 
for  industry,  and  not  for  traffic.  I  can  conceive  man 
and  nature  to  have  been  so  constituted,  that  each  indi- 
vidual should,  by  solitary  labor,  have  drawn  from  the 
earth  his  sustenance ;  and  that  a  vesture  softer,  richer, 


THE    MORAL    END    OP    BUSINESS.  51 

and  more  graceful  than  is  ever  wrought  in  the  looms 
of  our  manufactories,  might  have  been  woven  upon 
his  body,  by  the  same  invisible  hands  that  have  thus 
clothed  the  beasts  of  the  desert,  and  the  birds  of  the 
air,  and  the  lilies  of  the  field,  so  that  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  them.  Then 
might  man  have  held  only  the  sweet  counsel  of  so- 
ciety with  his  fellow,  and  never  have  been  called  to 
engage  with  him  in  the  strife  of  business.  Then,  too, 
would  he  have  been  saved  from  all  the  dangers 
and  vices  of  human  traffic.  But  then,  too,  would  the 
lofty  virtues  cultivated  in  this  sphere  of  life,  never 
have  had  an  existence.  For  business,  I  repeat,  is 
admirably  adapted  to  form  such  virtues.  It  is  apt,  I 
know  it  is  said,  to  corrupt  men  ;  but  the  truth  is,  it  cor- 
rupts only  those  who  are  willing  to  be  corrupted.  An 
honest  man,  a  man  who  sincerely  desires  to  attain  to 
a  lofty  and  unbending  uprightness,  could  scarcely  seek 
a  discipline  more  perfectly  fitted  to  that  end,  than  the 
discipline  of  trade.  For  what  is  trade  ?  It  is  the 
constant  adjustment  of  the  claims  of  different  parties, 
a  man's  self  being  one  of  the  parties.  This  competi- 
tion of  rights  and  interests  might  not  invade  the  soli- 
tary study,  or  the  separate  tasks  of  the  work-shop,  or 
the  labors  of  the  silent  field,  once  a  day  ;  but  it  press- 
es upon  the  merchant  and  trader  continually.  Do 
you  say  that  it  presses  too  hard  ?  Then  I  reply,  must 
the  sense  of  rectitude  be  made  the  stronger  to  meet 
the  trial.  Every  plea  of  this  nature  is  an  argument 
for  strenuous  moral  effort.  Shall  I  be  told  that  the 
questions  which  often  arise  are  very  perplexing  ;  that 
the  case  to  be  decided  comes,  oftentimes,  not  under  a 
definite   rule  but  under  a  general  principle,  whose 


52  THE  MORAL  END  OF  BUSINESS. 

very  generality  is  perilous  to  the  conscience  ?  It  is 
indeed.  Here,  perhaps,  lies  the  great  peril  of  business, 
in  the  generality  of  the  rule.  For  conscience  does 
not  in  most  cases  definitely  say,  "  thou  shalt  do  this 
thing,  and  thou  shalt  do  that."  It  says  always,  "  thou 
shalt  do  right,"  but  what  that  is,  is  not  always  clear. 
And  hence  it  is,  that  a  man  may  take  care  to  offend 
against  no  definite  remonstrance  of  conscience,  and 
that  he  may  be,  in  the  common  acceptation,  an  honest 
man  ;  and  yet,  that  he  may  be  a  selfish,  exacting  and 
oppressive  man  ;  a  man  who  can  never  recognize  the 
rights  and  interests  of  others  ;  who  can  never  see 
any  thing  but  on  the  side  that  is  favorable  to  himself; 
who  drowns  the  voice  of  his  modest  neighbor,  with 
always  and  loudly  saying,  "  Oh  I  this  is  right,  and 
that  can't  be" — a  man,  in  fine,  who,  although  he  sel- 
dom, perhaps,  never  offends  against  any  assignable  or 
definite  precept  of  conscience,  has  swerved  altogether 
from  all  uprightness  and  generosity.  What  then  is  to 
be  done  ?  A  work,  I  answer,  of  the  most  ennobling 
character.  A  man  must  do  more  than  to  attain  to 
punctilious  honesty  in  his  actions ;  he  must  train  his 
whole  soul,  his  judgment,  his  sentiments  and  affec- 
tions, to  uprightness,  candour  and  good  will. 

In  fine,  I  look  upon  business  as  one  vast  scene  of 
moral  action.  "  The  thousand  wheels  of  commerce," 
with  all  their  swift  and  complicated  revolutions,  I 
regard  as  an  immense  moral  machinery.  Meanness 
and  cunning  may  lurk  amidst  it,  but  it  was  not  de- 
signed for  that  degradation.  That  must  be  a  noble 
scene  of  action,  where  conscience  is  felt  to  be  a  law. 
And  it  is  felt  to  be  the  law  of  business ;  its  very  vio- 
lations prove  it  such.    It  is  the  enthroned  sovereign  of 


THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS.  53 

the  plan ;  disobedience,  disloyalty,  give  attestation  to 
it.  Nothing  is  too  holy  to  connect  with  it.  There  is 
a  temple  in  one  of  the  cities  of  Europe,  through 
which  is  the  very  passage  to  the  market-place ;  and 
those  who  pass  there,  often  rest  their  burthens,  to  turn 
aside  and  kneel  at  the  altar  of  prayer.  So  were  it 
meet  that  all  men  should  enter  upon  their  daily  busi- 
ness. The  temple  of  mammon,  should  be  the  temple  of 
God.  The  gates  of  trade  should  be  as  the  entrance 
to  the  sanctuary  of  conscience.  There  is  an  eye  of 
witnessing  and  searching  scrutiny  fixed  upon  every  one 
of  its  doings.  The  presence  of  that  all-seeing  One, 
not  confined,  as  some  imagine,  to  the  silent  church  or 
the  solitary  grove — the  presence  of  God,  I  think  it 
not  too  solemn  to  say,  is  in  every  counting-room  and 
warehouse  of  yonder  mart,  and  ought  to  make  it  holy 
ground. 

I  have  thus  attempted  to  show  that  business  has  an 
ultimate,  moral  end — one  going  beyond  the  accumula- 
tion of  property. 

This  may  also  be  shown  to  be  true,  not  only  on  the 
scale  of  our  private  affairs,  but  on  the  great  theatre  of 
history.  Commerce  has  always  been  an  instrument 
in  the  hands  of  Providence,  for  accomplishing  nobler 
ends  than  promoting  the  wealth  of  nations.  It  has 
been  the  grand  civilizer  of  nations.  It  has  been  the 
active  principle  in  all  civilization.  Or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  it  has  presented  that  condition  of  things,  in 
which  civilization  has  always  rapidly  advanced,  and 
without  which,  it  never  has.  The  principles  of  civili- 
zation, properly  speaking,  are  the  principles  of  human- 
ity— the  natural  desire  of  knowledge,  liberty  and  re- 
finement.    But  commerce   seems  to  have   been  the 

5* 


54  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 

germ,  the  original  spring,  that  has  put  all  other  springs 
in  action.  Liberty  has  always  followed  its  steps ;  and 
with  liberty,  science  and  religion  have  gradually  ad- 
vanced and  improved ;  and  never  without  it.  All 
those  kingdoms  of  central  Asia,  and  of  Europe  too, 
which  commerce  has  never  penetrated,  have  been,  and 
are,  despotisms.  With  its  earliest  birth  on  the  Medi- 
terranean shore,  freedom  was  born.  Phoenicia,  the 
merchants  of  whose  cities,  Tyre  and  Sidon,  were  ac- 
counted princes  ;  the  Hebrew  commonwealth,  which 
earned  on  a  trade  through  those  parts  ;  the  Grecian, 
Carthaginian  and  Roman  States,  were  not  only  the 
freest,  but  they  were  the  only  free  states  of  antiquity. 
In  the  middle  ages,  commerce  broke  down,  in  Europe, 
the  feudal  system,  raising  up  in  the  Hanse  Towns 
throughout  Germany,  Sweden  and  Norway,  a  body 
of  men  who  were  able  to  cope  with  barons  and  kings, 
and  to  wrest  from  them,  their  free  charters  and  right- 
ful privileges.  In  England,  its  influence  is  proverbial ; 
the  sheet-anchor  it  has  long  been  considered,  of  her 
unequalled  prosperity  and  intelligence.  On  our  own 
happy  shores,  it  has  a  still  more  unobstructed  field,  and 
is  destined,  I  trust,  to  spread  over  the  whole  breadth 
of  our  interior  domain,  wealth,  cultivation  and  refine- 
ment. 

Its  moral  influences  are  the  only  ones  of  which  we 
stand  in  any  doubt,  and  these,  it  need  not  be  said,  are 
of  unequalled  importance.  The  philanthropist,  the 
Christian,  the  Christian  preacher,  are  all  bound  to 
watch  these  influences  with  the  closest  attention,  and 
to  do  all  in  their  power  to  guard  and  elevate  them. 
To  this  work  I  am  attempting  to  contribute  my  hum- 
ble part ;  and  I  conceive,  that  I  have  nowr  come  to  the 


THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS.  55 

grand  principle  of  safety  and  improvement,  viz.,  that 
trade  is  essentially  a  moral  business,  that  it  has  a 
moral  end  more  important  than  success,  that  the  attain- 
ment of  this  end  is  better  than  the  acquisition  of 
wealth,  and  that  the  failure  of  it,  is  worse  than  any 
commercial  failure  ;  worse  than  bankruptcy,  poverty, 
ruin. 

It  is  upon  this  point  that  I  wish  especially  to  insist ; 
but  there  are  one  or  two  topics,  that  may  previously 
claim  some  attention. 

If,  then,  business  is  a  moral  dispensation,  and  its 
highest  end  is  moral,  I  shall  venture  to  call  in  question 
the  commonly  supposed  desirableness  of  escaping  from 
it — the  idea  which  prevails  with  so  many  of  making  a 
fortune  in  a  few  years,  and  afterwards  of  retiring  to  a 
state  of  leisure.  If  business  really  is  a  scene  of  wor- 
thy employment  and  of  high  moral  action,  I  do  not 
see  why  the  moderate  pursuit  of  it  should  not  be  laid 
down  in  the  plan  of  entire  active  life  ;  and  why  upon 
this  plan,  a  man  should  not  determine  to  give  only  so 
much  time  each  day  to  his  avocations,  as  would  be 
compatible  with  such  a  plan ;  only  so  much  time,  in 
other  words,  as  will  be  compatible  with  the  daily  en- 
joyment of  life,  with  reading,  society,  domestic  inter- 
course, and  all  the  duties  of  philanthropy  and  devo- 
tion. If  the  merchant  does  not  dislike  or  despise  his 
employment — and  it  is  when  he  makes  himself  the 
mere  slave  of  business,  that  he  creates  the  greatest 
real  objections  to  it — if,  I  say,  he  looks  upon  his  em- 
ployment as  lawful  and  laudable,  an  appointment  of 
God  to  accomplish  good  purposes  in  this  world  and 
better  for  the  next ;  why  should  he  not,  like  the  physi- 
cian, the  lawyer  and  clergyman,  like  the  husbandman 


56         THE  MORAL  END  OF  BUSINESS, 

and  artisan,  continue  in  it,  through  the  period  of  active 
life ;  and  adjust  his  views,  expectations  and  engage- 
ments to  that  reasonable  plan  ?  But  now,  instead  of 
this,  what  do  we  see  around  us  ?  Why,  men  are  en- 
gaging in  business — here,  at  home,  in  their  own  coun- 
try, in  the  bosom  of  their  families  and  amidst  their 
friends — as  if  they  were  in  a  foreign  and  infectious 
clime ;  and  must  be  in  haste  to  make  their  fortunes, 
that  they  may  escape  with  their  lives  to  some  place  of 
safety,  ease,  and  enjoyment ! 

And  now,  what  sort  of  preparation  for  retirement 
is  this  life,  absorbed  in  business  ?  It  is  precisely  that 
sort  of  preparation  that  unfits  a  man  for  retirement. 
Nothing  will  work  well  or  agreeably  in  experience, 
which  has  not  some  foundation  in  previous  habits  and 
practice.  But  for  all  those  things  which  are  to  be  a 
man's  resources  in  retirement,  his  previous  life,  per- 
haps, has  given  him  not  a  moment  of  time.  He  has 
really  no  rural  tastes  ;  for  he  has  scarcely  seen  the 
country  for  years,  except  on  hurried  journeys  of  busi- 
ness ;  the  busy  wheels  of  commerce  now,  alas !  roll 
through  the  year,  and  he  is  chained  to  them  every 
month.  He  has  made  no  acquaintance  with  the  fine 
arts  ;  no  music  has  there  been  for  his  ear  but  the  clink 
of  gold  ;  no  pictures  for  his  eye,  but  fine  colored  draw- 
ings of  houses  and  lots,  or  of  fancy  villages  and  towns. 
He  has  cultivated  no  habits  of  reading ;  and — what  I 
hold  to  be  just  as  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  any  life, 
retired  or  active — he  has  cultivated  no  habits  of  devo- 
tion. Add  to  all  this,  that  he  is  thrown  upon  the  dan- 
gerous state  of  luxurious  leisure — that  prepared,  en- 
riched, productive  hot-bed  of  prurient  imaginations 
and  teeming  passions — without  any  guards  against  its 


THE    MORAL    END    OP    BUSINESS.  57 

moral  perils.  And  what  is  likely  to  be  the  conse- 
quence ?  He  will  become  perhaps  an  indolent  and 
bloate  dsensualist,  cumbering  the  beautiful  grounds,  on 
which  he  vegetates  rather  than  lives  ;  or,  from  the  vio- 
lent change  of  his  habits,  you  will  soon  hear,  perhaps, 
that,  without  any  other  cause  than  the  change,  he  is 
dead  ;  or  he  may  live  on,  in  weariness  and  ennui, 
wishing  in  his  heart,  that  he  were  back  again,  though 
it  were  to  take  his  place  behind  the  counter  of  the 
humblest  shop. 

I  do  not  pretend,  of  course,  that  I  am  pourtraying 
the  case  of  every  man,  who  is  proposing  to  retire  from 
business.  There  are  those,  doubtless,  whose  views  of 
retiring  are  reasonable  and  praise-worthy ;  who  do  not 
propose  to  escape  from  all  employment;  who  are 
living  religiously  and  virtuously  in  the  midst  of  their 
business,  and  not  unwisely  intending  to  make  up  for 
the  deficiency  of  those  qualities  in  retirement ;  who 
wish  to  improve  and  beautify  some  pleasant  rural 
abode,  and  thus,  and  in  many  other  ways,  to  be  use- 
ful to  the  country  around  them.  To  such  a  retire- 
ment, I  have  nothing  to  object :  and  I  only  venture  to 
suggest,  as  an  obvious  dictate  of  good  sense,  that  he 
who  proposes,  some  day,  to  retire  from  business,  should, 
in  the  meantime,  cultivate  those  qualities  and  habits, 
which  will  make  him  happy  in  retirement.  But  this  I 
also  say,  that  I  do  more  than  doubt,  whether  any  man, 
who  is  completely  engrossed  in  business,  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  for  twenty  or  thirty  years,  can  be  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  or  improve  a  life  of  leisure. 

Another  topic,  of  which  I  wish  to  speak,  is  the  rage 
for  speculation.  I  wish  to  speak  of  it  now  in  a  partic- 
ular view — as  interfering,  that  is  to  say,  with  the  moral 


58  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS, 

end  of  business.  And  here,  again,  let  me  observe, 
that  I  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  instances,  with  ex- 
ceptions. I  can  only  speak  of  the  general  tendency 
of  things.  And  it  is  not  against  speculation  simply, 
that  I  have  any  thing  to  allege.  All  business  possesses 
more  or  less  of  this  character.  Every  thing  is  bought 
on  the  expectation  of  selling  it  for  more.  But  this 
rage  for  speculation,  this  eagerness  of  many  for  sud- 
den and  stupendous  accumulation,  this  spirit  of  gam- 
bling in  trade,  is  a  different  thing.  It  proceeds  on 
principles  entirely  different  from  the  maxims  of  a  reg- 
ular and  pains-taking  business.  It  is  not  looking  to  dil- 
igence and  fidelity  for  a  fair  reward,  but  to  change  and 
chance  for  a  fortunate  turn.  It  is  drawing  away 
men's  minds  from  the  healthful  processes  of  sober  in- 
dustry and  attention  to  business,  and  leading  them  to 
wait  in  feverish  excitement,  as  at  the  wheel  of  a  lot- 
tery. The  proper  basis  of  success — vigilant  care  and 
labor — is  forsaken  for  a  system  of  baseless  credit. 
Upon  this  system,  men  proceed,  straining  their  means 
and  stretching  their  responsibilities,  till,  in  calm  times, 
they  can  scarcely  hold  on  upon  their  position ;  and 
when  a  sudden  jar  shakes  the  commercial  world,  or  a 
sudden  blast  sweeps  over  it,  many  fall,  like  untimely 
fruit,  from  the  towering  tree  of  fancied  prosperity. 
Upon  this  system,  many  imagine  that  they  are  doing 
well,  when  they  are  not  doing  well.  They  rush  into 
expenses,  which  they  cannot  afford,  upon  the  strength, 
not  of  their  actual,  but  of  their  imaginary  or  expected 
means.  Young  men,  who,  in  former  days,  would  have 
been  advised  to  walk  awhile  longer,  and  patiently  to 
tread  the  upward  path,  must  buy  horses  and  vehicles 
for  their  accommodation,  and  mounted  upon  the  car 


THE    MORAL    END   OF    BUSINESS.  59 

of  fancied  independence,  they  are   hurried   only  to 
swifter  destruction. 

This  system  of  rash  and  adventurous  speculation, 
overlooks  all  the  moral  uses  and  ends  of  business. 
To  do  business  and  get  gain,  honestly  and  conscien- 
tiously, is  a  good  thing.  It  is  a  useful  discipline  of  the 
character.  I  look  upon  a  man  who  has  acquired 
wealth,  in  a  laudable,  conscientious  and  generous  pur- 
suit of  business,  not  only  with  a  respect  far  beyond 
what  I  can  feel  for  his  wealth — for  which,  indeed,  ab- 
stractly, I  can  feel  none  at  all — but  with  the  distinct 
feeling  that  he  has  acquired  something  far  more  valu- 
able than  opulence.  But  for  this  discipline  of  the 
character,  for  the  reasonableness  and  rectitude  of 
mind  which  a  regular  business  intercourse  may  form, 
speculation  furnishes  but  a  narrow  field,  if  any  at  all ; 
such  speculation,  I  mean,  as  has  lately  created  a  popu- 
lar phrenzy  in  this  country  about  the  sudden  acquisi- 
tion of  property  .  The  game  which  men  were  play- 
ing was  too  rapid,  and  the  stake  too  large,  to  admit  of 
the  calm  discriminations  of  conscience,  and  the  rea- 
sonable contemplation  of  moral  ends.  Wealth  came 
to  be  looked  upon  as  the  only  end.  And  immediate 
wealth,  was  the  agitating  prize.  Men  could  not  wait 
for  the  slow  and  disciplinary  methods,  by  which  Pro- 
vidence designed  that  they  should  acquire  it;  but 
they  felt,  as  if  it  were  the  order  of  Providence,  that 
fortunes  should  fall  direct  from  heaven  into  their  open 
hands.  Rather,  should  we  not  say,  that  multitudes 
did  not  look  to  heaven  at  all,  but  to  speculation 
itself,  instead,  as  if  it  were  a  god,  or  some  won- 
der-working magician,  at  least,  that  was  suddenly 
to  endow  them  with  opulence.     Acquisition  became 


60  THE    MORAL   END    OP   BUSINESS. 

the  story  of  an  Arabian  tale  ;  and  men's  minds  were 
filled  with  romantic  schemes,  and  visionary  hopes,  and 
vain  longings,  rather  than  with  sobriety,  and  candor, 
and  moderation,  and  gratitude,  and  trust  in  Heaven. 

This  insane  and  insatiable  passion  for  accumulation, 
ever  ready,  when  circumstances  favor,  to  seize  upon 
the  public  mind,  is  that  "  love  of  money  which  is  the 
root  of  all  evil,"  that  "  covetousness  which  is  idolatry." 
It  springs  from  an  undue,  an  idolatrous  estimate  of  the 
value  of  property.  Many  are  feeling,  that  nothing — 
nothing  will  do  for  them  or  for  their  children,  but 
wealth ;  not  a  good  character,  not  well-trained  and 
well  exerted  faculties,  not  virtue,  not  the  hope  of  hea- 
ven— nothing  but  wealth.  It  is  their  god,  and  the  god 
of  their  families.  Their  sons  are  growing  up  to  the  same 
worship  of  it,  and  to  an  equally  baneful  reliance  upon 
it  for  the  future  ;  they  are  rushing  into  expenses  which 
the  divided  property  of  their  father's  house  will  not  en- 
able them  to  sustain  ;  and  they  are  preparing  to  be  in 
turn  and  from  necessity,  slaves  to  the  same  idol.  How 
truly  is  it  written,  that  "  they  that  will  be  rich,  fall  into 
temptation,  and  a  snare,  and  into  many  foolish  and 
hurtful  lusts,  which  drown  men  in  destruction  and 
perdition  !"  There  is  no  need  that  they  should  be 
rich ;  but  they  will  be  rich.  All  the  noblest  functions 
of  life  may  be  discharged  without  wealth,  all  its  high- 
est honors  obtained,  all  its  purest  pleasures  enjoyed ; 
yet  I  repeat  it — nothing — nothing  will  do  but  wealth. 
Disappoint  a  man  of  this,  and  he  mourns  as  if  the 
highest  end  of  life  were  defeated.  Strip  him  of  this : 
and  this  gone,  all  is  gone.  Strip  him  of  this,  and  I 
shall  point  to  no  unheard  of  experience,  when  I  say — 
he  had  rather  die  than  live ! 


THE    MOllAL    END    OF    BUSINESS.  01 

The  grievous  mistake,  the  mournful  evil  implied  in 
this  oversight  of  the  great  spiritual  end,  which  should  be 
sought  in  all  earthly  pursuits,  is  the  subject  to  which 
I  wished  to  draw  your  attention  in  the  last  place. 
It  is  not  merely  in  the  haste  to  be  rich,  accompanied 
with  the  intention  to  retire  from  business  to  a  state  of 
luxurious  and  self-indulgent  leisure  ;  it  is  not  merely 
in  the  rage  for  speculation,  that  the  evils  of  overlook- 
ing the  moral  aim  of  business  are  seen  ;  but  they  sink 
deep  into  the  heart,  in  the  ordinary  walks  of  regular 
and  daily  occupation ;  dethroning  the  spiritual  nature 
from  its  proper  place,  vitiating  the  affections,  and  losing 
some  of  the  noblest  opportunities  for  virtue,  that  can 
be  lost  on  earth. 

The  spiritual  nature,  I  say,  is  dethroned  from  its  pro- 
per place,  by  this  substitution  of  the  immediate  end, 
wealth,  for  the  ultimate  end,  virtue.  Who  is  this  be- 
ing, that  labors  for  nothing  but  property;  with  no 
thought  beyond  it ;  with  the  feeling  that  nothing  will 
do  without  it ;  with  the  feeling  that  there  are  no  ends 
in  life,  that  can  satisfy  him,  if  that  end  is  not  gained  ? 
You  will  not  tell  me,  that  it  is  a  being  of  my  own  fancy. 
You  have  probably  known  such ;  perhaps,  some  of  you 
are  such.  I  have  known  men  of  this  way  of  think- 
ing, and  men,  too,  of  sense  and  of  amiable  temper. 
Who  then,  I  ask  again,  is  this  being?  He  is  an  im- 
mortal being ;  and  his  views  ought  to  stretch  them- 
selves to  eternity — ought  to  seek  an  ever-expanding 
good.  And  this  being,  so  immortal  in  his  nature,  so 
infinite  in  faculties — to  what  is  he  looking  ?  To  the  sub- 
lime mountain  range,  that  spreads  along  the  horizon  of 
this  world  ?  To  the  glorious  host  of  glittering  stars, 
the   majestic   train  of  night,  the   infinite    regions  of 

6 


C2  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 

heaven  ?  No — his  is  no  upward  gaze,  no  wide  vision 
cf  the  world — -to  a  speck  of  earthly  dust  he  is  looking. 
He  might  lift  his  eye,  a  philosophic  eye,  to  the  magni- 
ficence of  the  universe,  for  an  object ;  and  upon  what 
is  it  fixed  ?  Upon  the  mole-hill  beneath  his  feet !  That 
is  his  end.  Every  thing  is  naught,  if  that  is  gone. 
He  is  an  immortal  being,  I  repeat ;  he  may  be  enrobed 
in  that  vesture  of  light,  of  virtue,  which  never  shall 
decay ;  and  he  is  to  live  through  such  ages,  that  the 
time  shall  come  when  to  his  eye  all  the  splendors  of 
fortune,  of  gilded  palace  and  gorgeous  equipage,  shall 
be  no  more  than  the  spangle  that  falls  from  a  royal 
robe  ;  and  yet,  in  that  glittering  particle  of  earthly  dust, 
is  his  soul  absorbed  and  bound  up.  I  am  not  saying, 
now,  that  he  is  willing  to  lose  his  soul  for  that.  This 
he  may  do.  But  I  only  say  now,  that  he  sets  his  soul 
upon  that,  and  feels  it  to  be  an  end  so  dear,  that  the 
irretrievable  loss  of  it,  the  doom  of  poverty,  is  death  to 
him  ;  nay,  to  his  sober  and  deliberate  judgment — for  I 
have  known  such  instances — is  worse  than  death  itself! 
And  yet  he  is  an  immortal  being,  I  repeat,  and  he  is 
sent  into  this  world  on  an  errand  ?  What  errand  ? 
What  is  the  great  mission  on  which  the  Master  of  life 
hath  sent  him  here  ?  To  get  riches  ?  To  amass  gold 
coins,  and  bank  notes?  To  scrape  together  a  little  of 
the  dust  of  this  earth ;  and  then  to  lie  down  upon  it 
and  embrace  it,  in  the  indolence  of  enjoyment,  or  in 
the  rapture  of  possession  ?  Is  such  worldliness  possi- 
ble ?  Worldliness !  Why,  it  is  not  worldliness.  That 
should  be  the  quality  of  being  attached  to  a  world — 
to  all  that  it  can  give,  and  not  to  one  thin 7  only  that  it 
can  give — to  fame,  to  power,  to  moral  power,  to  influ- 
ence, to  the  admiration  of  the  world.     Worldliness, 


TBS    MORAL    END    OF    BV8IN1  C3, 

methinks,  should  be  something  greater  than  men  make 
it — should  stretch  itself  out  to  the  breadth  of  the  great 
globe,  and  not  wind  itself  up  like  a  worm  in  the  web 
of  selfish  possession.  If  I  must  be  worldly,  let  me 
have  the  worldliness  of  Alexander,  and  not  of  Croesus. 
And  wealth  too — I  had  thought  it  was  a  means  and  not 
an  end — an  instrument  which  a  noble  human  being 
handles,  and  not  a  heap  of  shining  dust  in  which  he 
buries  himself;  something  that  a  man  could  drop  from 
his  hand,  and  still  be  a  man — be  all  that  he  ever  was — 
and  compass  all  the  noble  ends  that  pertain  to  a 
human  being.  What  if  you  be  poor  ?  Are  you  not 
still  a  man — Oh  !  heaven,  and  mayest  be  a  spirit,  and 
have  a  universe  of  spiritual  possessions  for  your  trea- 
sure. What  if  you  be  poor  ?  You  may  still  walk 
through  the  world  in  freedom  and  in  joy.  You  may 
still  tread  the  glorious  path  of  virtue.  You  may  still 
win  the  bright  prize  of  immortality.  You  may  still 
achieve  purposes  on  earth  that  constitute  all  the  glory 
of  earth,  and  ends  in  heaven,  that  constitute  all  the 
glory  of  heaven  !  Nay,  if  such  must  be  the  effect  of 
wealth,  I  would  say,  let  me  be  poor.  I  would  pray 
God  that  I  might  be  poor.  Rather,  and  more  wisely 
ought  I,  perhaps,  to  say  with  Agur,  "  give  me  neither 
poverty  nor  riches ;  lest  I  be  full  and  deny  thee,  and 
say,  who  is  the  Lord  ?  or  lest  I  be  poor,  and  steal, 
and  take  the  name  of  my  God  in  vain." 

The  many,  corrupting  and  soul-destroying  vices  en- 
gendered in  the  mind  by  this  lamentable  oversight  of 
the  spiritual  aim  in  business,  deserve  a  separate  anrl 
solemn  consideration. 

I  believe  that  you  will  not  accuse  me  of  any  disposi- 
tion to  press  unreasonable  charges  against  men  of  busi- 


64  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 

ness.  I  cannot  possibly  let  the  pulpit  throw  burthens 
of  responsibility,  or  warnings  of  danger  on  this  sphere 
of  life,  as  if  others  were  not  in  their  measure  open  to 
similar  admonitions.  I  come  not  here  to  make  war 
upon  any  particular  class.  I  pray  you  not  to  regard 
this  pulpit  as  holding  any  relation  to  you,  but  that  of 
a  faithful  and  Christian  friend,  or  as  having  any  inter- 
est in  the  world  connected  with  business,  but  your  own 
true  interest.  Above  all  things  do  I  deprecate  that 
worldly  and  most  pernicious  habit  of  hearing  and  ap- 
proving very  good  things  in  the  pulpit,  and  going  away, 
and  calmly  doing  very  bad  things  in  the  world,  as  if 
the  two  had  no  real  connection — that  habit  of  listen- 
ing to  the  admonitions  and  rebukes  of  the  pulpit  with 
a  sort  of  demure  respect,  or  with  significant  glances  at 
your  neighbors,  and  then  of  going  away,  commending 
the  doctrine  with  your  lips,  to  violate  it  in  your  lives — 
as  if  you  said,  "  well,  the  pulpit  has  acted  its  part,  and 
now  we  will  go  and  act  ouvs."  I  act  no  part  here. 
God  forbid  !  I  endeavor  to  be  reasonable  and  gust,  in 
what  I  say  here.  I  take  no  liberty  to  be  extravagant 
in  this  place,  because  I  cannot  be  answered.  I  hold 
myself  solemnly  bound  to  say  nothing  recklessly  and 
for  effect.  I  occupy  here  no  isolated  position.  I  am 
continually  thinking  what  my  hearers  will  fairly  have 
to  say  on  their  part,  and  striving  fairly  to  meet  it.  I 
speak  to  you  simply  as  one  man  may  speak  to  another, 
as  soul  may  speak  to  its  brother  soul ;  and  I  solemnly 
and  affectionately  say,  what  I  would  have  you  say 
to  me  in  a  change  of  place — I  say  that  the  pursuits  of 
business  are  perilous  to  your  virtue. 

On  this  subject,  I  cannot,  indeed,  speak  with  the  lan- 
guage of  experience.   But  I  cannot  forget  that  the  voice 


THE    MORAL    KND    0>'    HUSIflESS.  C5 

of  all  moral  instruction,  in  all  ages  and  in  all  pounl 
is  a  voice  of  warning.  I  cannot  forget  that  thc'y'oice  of 
Holy  Scripture  falls  in  solemn  accents  upon  the  perils 
attending  the  pursuit  of  wealth.  How  solemn,  how 
Strong,  how  pertinent  those  accents  are,  I  may  not 
know,  but  I  most  not,  for  that  reason,  withhold  them. 
"  Wo  unto  you  who  are  rich,"  saith  the  holy  word,  "for 
ye  have  not  received  your  consolation.  Wo  unto  you 
that  are  full,  for  ye  shall  hunger."  Hunger  ?  What 
hath  wealth  to  do  with  hunger?  And  yet  there  is  a 
hunger.  What  is  it  ?  What  can  it  be  but  the  hun- 
gering of  the  soul  ;  and  that  is  the  point  which,  in  this 
discourse,  I  press  upon  your  attention.  And  again  it 
says,  "  your  riches  are  corrupted ;  your  gold  and  sil- 
ver is  cankered :"  and  is  it  not  cankered  in  the  very 
hearts  of  those  whom  wealth  has  made  proud,  vain, 
anxious  and  jealous,  or  seif-indulgent,  sensual,  diseased 
and  miserable  ? — "  And  the  rust  of  them,"  so  proceeds 
the  holy  text,  "  shall  be  a  witness  against  you,  and  shall 
eat  your  flesh  as  it  were  fire."  Ah  !  the  rust  of  riches ! — 
not  that  portion  of  them  which  is  kept  bright  in  good 
and  holy  uses — "  and  the  consuming  fire"  of  the  pas- 
sions which  wealth  engenders !  No  rich  man — I  lay 
it  down  as  an  axiom  of  all  experience — no  rich  man  is 
safe,  who  is  not  a  benevolent  man.  No  rich  man  is 
safe,  but  in  the  imitation  of  that  benevolent  God,  who 
is  the  possessor  and  dispenser  of  all  the  riches  of  the 
universe.  What  else,  mean  the  miseries  of  a  selfishly 
luxurious  and  fashionable  life  every  where?  What 
mean  the  sighs  that  come  up  from  the  perlieus,  aiul 
couches,  and  most  secret  haunts  of  all  splendid  and 
self-indulgent  opulence  ?  Do  not  tell  me  that  other 
men  are  sufferers  too.     Say  not  that  the  poor,  and  des- 

b* 


6Q  THE  MORAL  END  OF  BUSINESS. 

titute  and  forlorn,  are  miserable  also.  Ah !  just  hea- 
ven !  thou  hast  in  thy  mysterious  wisdom,  appointed 
to  them  a  lot  hard,  full  hard,  to  bear.  Poor  house- 
less wretches!  who  "eat  the  bitter  bread  of  penury, 
and  drink  the  baleful  cup  of  misery  ;"  the  winter's 
wind  blows  keenly  through  your  "looped  and  win- 
dowed raggedness  ;"  your  children  wander  about  un- 
shod, unclothed  and  untended ;  I  wonder  not  that 
ye  sigh.  But  why  should  those  who  are  surrounded 
with  every  thing  that  heart  can  wish,  or  imagination 
conceive — the  very  crumbs  that  fall  from  whose  table 
of  prosperity  might  feed  hundreds — why  should  they 
sigh  amidst  their  profusion  and  splendor?  They  have 
broken  the  bond  that  should  connect  power  with  useful- 
ness,  and  opulence  with  mercy.  That  is  the  reason. 
They  have  taken  up  their  treasures,  and  wandered 
away  into  a  forbidden  world  of  their  own,  far  from 
the  sympathies  of  suffering  humanity ;  and  the  heavy 
night-dews  are  descending  upon  their  splendid  revels; 
and  the  all-gladdening  light  of  heavenly  beneficence  is 
exchanged  for  the  sickly  glare  of  selfish  enjoyment ; 
and  happiness,  the  blessed  angel  that  hovers  over  gen- 
erous deeds  and  heroic  virtues,  has  fled  away  from 
that  world  of  false  gaiety  and  fashionable  exclusion. 

I  have,  perhaps,  wandered  a  moment  from  the  point 
before  me — the  peril  of  business — though  as  business 
is  usually  aiming  at  wealth,  I  may  be  considered  rath- 
er as  having  only  pressed  that  point  to  some  of  its  ul- 
timate bearings. 

But  the  peril  of  business  specifically  considered ; 
and  I  ask,  if  there  is  not  good  ground  for  the  admoni- 
tions on  this  point,  of  every  moral  and  holy  teacher  of 
eveiy  age  ?     What  means,  if  there  is  not,  that  eternal 


THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS.  07 

liisingenuity  of  trade,  that  is  ever  putting  on  fair  ap- 
pearances and  false  pretences — of  "the  buyer  that 
says,  it  is  naught,  it  is  naught,  but  when  he  is  gone  his 
way,  then  boasteth" — of  the  seller,  who  is  always 
exhibiting  the  best  samples,  not  fair  but  false  samples, 
of  what  lie  has  to  sell ;  of  the  seller,  I  say,  who,  to 
use  the  language  of  another,  "  if  he  is  tying  up  a 
bundle  of  quills,  will  place  several  in  the  centre,  of 
not  half  the  value  of  the  rest,  and  thus  sends  forth  a 
hundred  liars,  with  a  fair  outside,  to  proclaim  as  many 
falsehoods  to  the  world  ?"  These  practices,  alas  !  have 
fallen  into  the  regular  course  of  the  business  of  many. 
All  men  expect  them  ;  and  therefore,  you  may  say, 
that  nobody  is  deceived.  But  deception  is  intended  ; 
else  why  are  these  things  done  ?  What  if  nobody  is 
deceived  ?  The  seller  himself  is  corrupted.  He  may 
stand  acquitted  of  dishonesty  in  the  moral  code  of 
worldly  traffic  ;  no  man  may  charge  him  with  dis- 
honesty ;  and  yet  to  himself  he  is  a  dishonest  man. 
Did  I  say  that  nobody  is  deceived  !  Nay,  but  some 
body  is  deceived.  This  man,  the  seller,  is  grossly, 
wofully  deceived.  He  thinks  to  make  a  little  profit 
by  his  contrivance ;  and  he  is  selling,  by  penny- worths', 
the  very  integrity  of  his  soul.  Yes,  the  pettiest  shop 
where  these  things  are  done,  may  be  to  the  spiritual 
vision,  a  place  of  more  than  tragic  interest.  It  is  the 
stage  on  which  the  great  action  of  life  is  performed. 
There  stands  a  man,  who  in  the  sharp  collisions  of 
daily  traffic,  might  have  polished  his  mind  to  the 
bright  and  beautiful  image  of  trutn,  who  might  have 
put  on  the  noble  brow  of  candor,  and  cherished  the 
very  soul  of  uprightness.  I  have  known  such  a  man. 
I  have  looked  into  his  humble  shop.  I  have  seen  the 


68  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 

mean  and  soiled  articles  with  which  he  is  dealing.  And 
yet  the  process  of  things  going  on  there,  was  as  beau- 
tiful, as  if  it  had  been  done  in  heaven !  But  now, 
what  is  this  man — the  man  who  always  turns  up  to 
you  the  better  side  of  every  thing  he  sells — the  man  of 
unceasing  contrivances  and  expedients,  his  life  long, 
to  make  things  appear  better  than  they  are  ?  Be  he 
the  greatest  merchant  or  the  poorest  huckster,  he  is 
a  mean,  a  knavish — and  were  I  not  awed  by  the 
thoughts  of  his  immortality,  I  should  say — a  con- 
temptible creature;  whom  nobody  that  knows  him 
can  love,  whom  nobody  can  trust,  whom  nobody  can 
reverence.  Not  one  thing  in  the  dusty  repository  of 
things,  great  or  small,  which  he  deals  with,  is  so  vile 
as  he.  What  is  this  thing  then,  which  is  done,  or  may 
be  done  in  the  house  of  traffic  ?  I  tell  you,  though 
you  may  have  thought  not  so  of  it — I  tell  you  that 
there,  even  there,  a  soul  may  be  lost ! — that  that  very 
structure,  built  for  the  gain  of  earth,  may  be  the  gate 
of  hell !  Say  not  that  this  fearful  appellation  should 
be  applied  to  worse  places  than  that.  A  man  may 
as  certainly  corrupt  all  the  integrity  and  virtue  of  his 
soul  in  a  warehouse  or  a  shop,  as  in  a  gambling- 
house  or  a  brothel. 

False  to  himself,  then,  may  a  man  become,  while  he 
is  walking  through  the  perilous  courses  of  traffic; 
false  also  to  his  neighbor.  I  cannot  dwell  much  upon 
this  topic  ;  but  I  will  put  one  question  ;  not  for  re- 
proach, but  for  your  sober  consideration.  Must  it 
not  render  a  man  extremely  liable  to  be  selfish,  that 
he  is  engaged  in  pursuits  whose  immediate  and  pal- 
pable end,  is  his  own  interest  ?  I  wish  to  draw  your 
attention  to  this  peculiarity  of  trade.     I  do  not  say, 


THE    MORAL    END    OF    BVSDTBSft  'rJ 

that  the  motives  which  originally  induce  a  man  to 
enter  into  this  sphere  of  life,  may  not  be  as  benevolent 
M  those  of  any  other  man  ;  but  this  is  the  point  which 
I  wish  to  have  considered— that  while  the  learned 
professions  have  knowledge  for  their  immediate  object, 
and  the  artist  and  the  artisan  have  the  perfection  of 
their  work  as  the  thing  that  directly  engages  their  at- 
tention, the  merchant  and  trader  have  for  their  im- 
mediate object,  profit.  Does  not  this  circumstance 
greatly  expose  a  man  to  be  selfish  ?  Full  well  I  know 
that  many  are  not  so ;  that  many  resist  and  overcome 
this  influence ;  but  I  think,  that  it  is  to  be  resisted. 
And  a  wise  man,  who  more  deeply  dreads  the  taint 
of  Liward  selfishness,  than  of  outward  dishonor,  will 
take  care  to  set  up  counter  influences.  And  to  this 
end,  he  should  beware  how  he  clenches  his  hand  and 
closes  his  heart  against  the  calls  of  suffering,  the  dic- 
tates of  public  spirit,  and  the  claims  of  beneficence. 
To  listen  to  them  is,  perhaps,  his  very  salvation  ! 

But  the  vitiating  process  of  business  may  not  stop 
with  selfishness ;  it  is  to  be  contemplated  in  still  ano- 
ther and  higher  light.  For  how  possible  is  it,  that  a  man 
while  engaged  in  exchanging  and  diffusing  the  bounties 
of  heaven,  while  all  countries  and  climes  are  pouring 
their  blessings  at  his  feet,  while  he  lawfully  deals  with 
not  one  instrument,  in  mind  or  matter,  but  it  was 
formed  and  fitted  to  his  use  by  a  beneficent  hand — 
how  possible  it  is  that  he  may  forget  and  forsake  the 
Being  who  has  given  him  all  things  !  How  possible  is 
it  that  under  the  very  accumulat-Dn  of  his  blessings 
may  be  buried  all  his  gratitude  and  piety — that  he 
may  be  too  busy  to  pray,  too  full  to  be  thankful,  too 
much  engrossed  with  the  gifts  to  think  of  the  Giver ! 


70  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 

The  humblest  giver  expects  some  thanks ;  he  would 
think  it  a  lack  of  ordinary  human  feeling  in  any  one, 
to  snatch  at  his  bounties,  without  casting  a  look  on 
the  bestower ;  he  would  gaze  in  astonishment  at  such 
heedless  ingratitude  and  rapacity,  and  almost  doubt 
whether  the  creatures  he  helped,  could  be  human. 
Are  they  any  more  human — do  they  any  more  deserve 
the  name  of  men,  when  the  object  of  such  perverse 
and  senseless  ingratitude  is  the  Infinite  Benefactor  1 
Would  we  know  what  aspect  it  bears  before  his  eye  ? 
Once,  and  more  than  once,  hath  that  Infinite  Benefac- 
tor spoken.  I  listen,  and  tremble  as  I  listen,  to  that 
lofty  adjuration,  with  which  the  sublime  prophet  hath 
set  forth  His  contemplation  of  the  ingratitude  of  his 
creatures.  "  Hear,  O  heavens,  and  give  ear,  O  earth  ! 
for  the  Lord  hath  spoken ;  I  have  nourished  and 
brought  up  children,  and  they  have  rebelled  against 
me.  The  ox  knoweth  his  owner,  and  the  ass  his  mas- 
ter's crib  ;  but  Israel  doth  not  know  ;  my  people  doth 
not  consider."  Sad  and  grievous  error  even  in  the 
eye  of  reason  !  Great  default  even  to  nature's  reli- 
gion !  But  art  thou  a  Christian  man — what  law  shall 
acquit  thee,  if  that  heavy  charge  lies  at  thy  door — at 
the  door  of  thy  warehouse — at  the  door  of  thy  dwell- 
ing. Beware,  lest  thou  forget  God  in  his  mercies  !  the 
Giver  in  his  gifts  !  lest  the  light  be  gone  from  thy 
prosperity,  and  prayer  from  thy  heart,  and  the  love  of 
thy  neighbor  from  the  labors  of  thy  calling,  and  the 
hope  of  heaven  from  the  abundance  of  thine  earthly 
estate  ! 

But  not  with  words  of  warning — ever  painful  to  use, 
and  not  always  profitable — would  I  now  dismiss  you 
from  the  house  of  God.     I  would  not  close  this  dia- 


THF.    MORAL    END    OP    BUSINESS.  71 

course,  in  which  I  may  seem  to  have  pressed  heavily 
on  the  evils  to  which  business  exposes  those  who  are 
engaged  in  it,  without  holding  up  distinctly  to  view  the 
great  moral  aim  on  which  it  is  my  main  purpose  to 
insist,  and  attempting  to  show  its  excellence. 

There  is  such  a  nobleness  of  character  in  the  right 
course,  that  it  is  to  that  point  I  would  last  direct  your 
attention.  The  aspirings  of  youth,  the  ambition  of 
manhood,  could  receive  no  loftier  moral  direction  than 
may  be  found  in  the  sphere  of  business.  The  school 
of  trade,  with  all  its  dangers,  may  be  made  one  of  the 
noblest  schools  of  virtue  in  the  world ;  and  it  is  of 
some  importance  to  say  it : — because  those  who  re- 
gard it  as  a  sphere  only  of  selfish  interests  and  sordid 
calculations,  are  certain  to  win  no  lofty  moral  prizes 
in  that  school.  There  can  be  nothing  more  fatal  to 
elevation  of  character  in  any  sphere,  whether  it  be  of 
business  or  society,  than  to  speak  habitually  of  that 
sphere  as  given  over  to  low  aims  and  pursuits.  If 
business  is  constantly  spoken  of  as  contracting  the 
mind  and  corrupting  the  heart ;  if  the  pursuit  of  pro- 
perty is  universally  satirized  as  selfish  and  grasping  ; 
too  many  who  engage  in  it  will  think  of  nothing  but 
of  adopting  the  character  and  the  course  so  pointed 
out.  Many  causes  have  contributed,  without  doubt, 
to  establish  that  disparaging  estimate  of  business — the 
spirit  of  feudal  aristocracies,  the  pride  of  learning,  the 
tone  of  literature,  and  the  faults  of  business  itself. 

I  say,  therefore,  that  there  is  no  being  in  the  world 
for  whom  I  feel  a  higher  moral  respect  and  admiration, 
than  for  the  upright  man  of  business ;  no,  not  for  the 
philanthropist,  the  missionary,  or  the  martyr.  I  feel 
that  I  could  more   easily  be   a  martyr,  than  a  man 


72  THE    MORAL    END    OF    BUSINESS. 

of  that  lofty  moral  uprightness.  And  let  me  say 
yet  more  distinctly,  that  it  is  not  for  the  generous 
man,  that  I  feel  this  kind  of  respect — that  seems  to 
me  a  lower  quality — a  mere  impulse,  compared  with 
the  lofty  virtue  I  speak  of.  It  is  not  for  the  man  who 
distributes  extensive  charities,  who  bestows  magnifi- 
cent donations.  That  may  be  all  very  well — I  speak 
not  to  disparage  it — I  wish  there  were  more  of  it ; 
and  yet  it  may  all  consist  with  a  want  of  the  true, 
lofty,  unbending  uprightness.  That  is  not  the  man 
then,  of  whom  I  speak ;  but  it  is  he  who  stands, 
amidst  all  the  swaying  interests  and  perilous  exigen- 
cies of  trade,  firm,  calm,  disinterested  and  upright.  It 
is  the  man,  who  can  see  another  man's  interests, 
just  as  clearly  as  his  own.  It  is  the  man  whose 
mind,  his  own  advantage  does  not  blind  nor  cloud 
for  an  instant;  who  could  sit  a  judge,  upon  a 
question  between  himself  and  his  neighbor,  just  as 
safely,  as  the  purest  magistrate  upon  the  bench 
of  justice.  Ah  !  how  much  richer  than  ermine,  how 
far  nobler  than  the  train  of  magisterial  authority,  how 
more  awful  than  the  guarded  bench  of  majesty,  is 
that  simple,  magnanimous  and  majestic  truth.  Yes, 
it  is  the  man  who  is  true — true  to  himself,  to  his  neigh- 
bor and  to  his  God — true  to  the  right — true  to  his  con- 
science— and  who  feels,  that  the  slightest  suggestion 
of  that  conscience,  is  more  to  him  than  the  chance  of 
acquiring  an  hundred  estates. 

Do  I  not  speak  to  some  such  one  now  ?  Stands 
there  not  here,  some  man  of  such  glorious  virtue,  of 
such  fidelity  to  truth  and  to  God.  Good  friend  !  I 
call  upon  you  to  hold  fast  to  that  integrity,  as  the  dear- 
est  treasure  of  existence.     Though   storms  of  com- 


THE  MORAL  END  OF  BU8IN  73 

mercial  distress  sweep  over  you,  and  the  wreck  of  all 
worldly  hopes  threaten  you,  hold  on  to  that  as  the  plank 
that  shall  bear  your  soul  unhurt  to  its  haven.  Re- 
member that  which  thy  Saviour  hath  spoken — "  what 
shall  it  profit  a  man,  if  he  gain  the  whole  world,  and 
lose  his  own  soul  ?"  Remember  that  there  is  a  worse 
bankruptcy  than  that  which  is  recorded  in  an  earth- 
ly court — the  bankruptcy  that  is  recorded  in  heaven — 
bankruptcy  in  thy  soul — all  poor,  and  broken  down, 
and  desolate  there — all  shame  and  sorrow  and  mourn- 
ing, instead  of  that  glorious  integrity,  which  should 
have  shone  like  an  angel's  presence,  in  the  darkest 
prison  that  ever  spread  its  shadow  over  human  calam- 
ity. Heaven  and  earth  may  pass  away,  but  the 
word  of  Christ — the  word  of  thy  truth,  let  it  pass 
from  thee  never ! 


74 


DISCOURSE  III. 

ON    THE    USES    OF    LABOR,    AND   THE    PASSION    FOR   A 
FORTUNE. 


II.  THESSALONIANS  III.  10.      For  even  when  we  were 

WITH  YOU,  THIS  WE  COMMANDED  YOU,  THAT  IF  ANY  MAN  WOULD 
NOT  WORK,  NEITHER  SHOULD  HE  EAT. 

I  wish  to  invite  your  attention  this  evening  to  the 
uses  of  labor,  and  the  passion  for  a  fortune.  The 
topics,  it  is  obvious,  are  closely  connected.  The  lat- 
ter, indeed,  is  my  main  subject ;  but  as  preliminary  to 
it,  I  wish  to  set  forth,  as  I  regard  it,  the  great  law  of 
human  industry.  It  is  worthy,  I  think,  of  being  con- 
sidered, and  religiously  considered,  as  the  chief  law  of 
all  human  improvement  and  happiness.  And  if  there 
be  any  attempt  to  escape  from  this  law,  or  if  there  be 
any  tendency  of  the  public  mind,  at  any  time,  to  the 
same  point,  the  eye  of  the  moral  observer  should  be 
instantly  drawn  to  that  point,  as  one  most  vital  to  the 
public  welfare.  That  there  has  been  such  a  tendency 
of  the  public  mind  in  this  country,  that  it  has  been 
most  signally  manifest  within  a  few  years  past,  and 
that  although  it  has  found  in  cities  the  principal  field  of 
its  manifestation,  it  has  spread  itself  over  the  country 
too ;  that  multitudes  have  become  suddenly  possessed 
with  a  new  idea,  the  idea  of  making  a  fortune  in  a 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  75 

brief  time,  and  then  of  retiring  to  a  state  of  ease  and 
independence — this  is  the  main  fact  on  which  I  shall 
insist,  and  of  which  I  shall  endeavor  to  point  out  the 
dangerous  consequences. 

But  let  me  first  call  your  attention  to  the  law  which 
has  thus,  as  I  contend,  in  spirit  at  least,  been  broken. 
What  then  is  the  law  ?  It  is,  that  industry — working, 
either  with  the  hand  or  with  the  mind — the  application 
of  the  powers  to  some  task,  to  the  acheivement  of 
some  result,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  human  im- 
provement. 

Every  step  of  our  progress  from  infancy  to  man- 
hood, is  proof  of  this.  The  process  of  education, 
rightly  considered,  is  nothing  else  but  wakening  the 
powers  to  activity.  It  is  through  their  own  activity 
alone,  that  they  are  cultivated.  It  is  not  by  the  mere 
imposition  of  tasks,  or  requisition  of  lessons.  The 
very  purpose  of  the  tasks  and  lessons  is  to  awaken,  and 
direct  that  activity.  Knowledge  itself  cannot  be 
gained,  but  upon  this  condition,  and  if  it  could  be 
gained,  would  be  useless  without  it. 

The  state  into  which  the  human  being  is  introduced, 
is  from  the  first  step  of  it  to  the  last,  designed  to  an- 
swer the  purpose  of  such  an  education.  Nature's 
education,  in  other  words,  answers  in  this  respect,  to 
the  just  idea  of  man's.  Each  sense,  in  succession,  is 
elicited  by  surrounding  objects,  and  it  is  only  by  re- 
peated trials  and  efforts,  that  it  is  brought  to  perfection. 
In  like  manner,  does  the  scene  of  life  appeal  to  every 
intellectual  and  every  moral  power.  Life  is  a  severe 
discipline,  and  demands  every  energy  of  human  na- 
ture to  meet  it.  Nature  is  a  rigorous  taskmaster ;  and 
its  language  to  the  human  race  is,  "if  a  man  will  not 


76-  THE    USES    OF    LABOK, 

work,  neither  shall  he  eat."  We  are  not  sent  into  the 
world  like  animals,  to  crop  the  spontaneous  herbage 
of  the  field,  and  then  to  lie  down  in  indolent  repose  : 
but  we  are  sent  to  dig  the  soil  and  plough  the  sea ;  to 
do  the  business  of  cities  and  the  work  of.  manufacto- 
ries. The  raw  material  only  is  given  us  ;  and  by  the 
processes  of  cookery  and  the  fabrications  of  art,  it  is  to 
be  wrought  to  our  purpose.  The  human  frame  itself 
is  a  most  exquisite  piece  of  mechanism,  and  it  is  de- 
signed in  every  part  for  work.  The  strength  of  the 
arm,  the  dexterity  of  the  hand,  and  the  delicacy  of  the 
finger,  are  all  fitted  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
purpose- 
All  this  is  evidently,  not  a  matter  of  chance,  but  the 
result  of  design.  The  world  is  the  great  and  appoint- 
ed school  of  industry.  In  an  artificial  state  of  society, 
I  know,  mankind  are  divided  into  the  idle  and  the 
laboring  classes  ;  but  such,  I  maintain,  was  not  the  de- 
sign of  providence.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  meant 
that  all  men,  in  one  way  or  another,  should  work.  If 
any  human  being  could  be  completely  released  from 
this  law  of  providence,  if  he  should  never  be  obliged 
so  much  as  to  stretch  out  his  hand  for  any  thing,  if 
every  thing  came  to  him  at  a  bare  wish,  if  there  were 
a  slave  appointed  to  minister  to  every  sense,  and  the 
powers  of  nature  were  made,  in  like  manner,  to  obey 
every  thought,  he  would  be  a  mere  mass  of  inertness, 
uselessness  and  misery. 

Yes,  such  is  man's  task,  and  such  is  the  world  he  is 
placed  in.  The  world  of  matter  is  shapeless  and  void 
to  all  man's  purposes,  till  he  lays  upon  it  the  creative 
hand  of  labor.  And  so  also  is  the  world  of  mind.  It 
is  as  true  in  mind  as  it  is  in  matter,  that  the  materials 


AND    TIIK    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  77 

only  are  given  us.  Absolute  truth  ready  made,  no 
more  presents  itself  to  us  in  one  department,  than 
finished  models  of  mechanism  ready  made,  do  in  the 
other. '  Original  principles  there  doubtless  are  in  both ; 
but  the  result — philosophy,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  one 
case  is  as  far  to  seek,  as  art  and  mechanism  are  in  the 
other. 

Such,  I  repeat,  is  the  world,  and  such  is  man.  The 
earth  he  stands  upon  and  the  air  he  breathes  are,  so 
far  as  his  improvement  is  concerned,  but  elements  to 
be  wrought  by  him  to  certain  purposes.  If  he  stood  on 
earth  passively  and  unconsciously  imbibing  the  dew 
and  sap,  and  spreading  his  arms  to  the  light  and  air,  he 
would  be  but  a  tree.  If  he  grew  up  capable  neither 
of  purpose  nor  of  improvement,  with  no  guidance  but 
instinct,  and  no  powers  but  those  of  digestion  and  loco- 
motion, he  would  be  but  an  animal.  But  he  is  more 
than  this  ;  he  is  a  man ;  he  is  made  to  improve  ;  he  is 
made,  therefore,  to  think,  to  act,  to  work.  Labor  is  his 
great  function,  his  peculiar  distinction,  his  privilege. 
Can  he  not  think  so  ?  Can  he  not  see,  that  from  being 
an  animal  to  eat  and  drink  and  sleep,  to  become  a 
worker — to  put  forth  the  hand  of  ingenuity,  and  to 
pour  his  own  thought  into  the  worlds  of  nature,  fashion- 
ing them  into  forms  of  grace  and  fabrics  of  conveni- 
ence, and  converting  them  to  purposes  of  improve- 
ment and  happiness — can  he  not  see,  I  repeat,  that 
this  is  the  greatest  possible  step  in  privilege  ?  Labor, 
I  say,  is  man's  great  function.  The  earth  and  the  at- 
mosphere are  his  laboratory.  With  spade  and  plough, 
with  mining-shafts  and  furnaces  and  forges,  with  fire 
and  steam — amidst  the  noise  and  whirl  of  swift  and 
bright  machinery,  and  abroad  in  the  silent  fields  be- 
7* 


78  THE    USES    OF    LABOR, 

neath  the  roofing  sky,  man  was  made  to  be  ever  work- 
ing, ever  experimenting.  And  while  he,  and  all  his 
dwellings  of  care  and  toil,  are  borne  onward  with  the 
circling  skies,  and  the  shows  of  heaven  are  around  him, 
and  their  infinite  depths  image  and  invite  his  thought, 
still  in  all  the  worlds  of  philosophy,  in  the  universe  of 
intellect,  man  must  be  a  worker.  He  is  nothing,  he 
can  be  nothing,  he  can  achieve  nothing,  fulfil  nothing, 
without  working.  Not  only  can  he  gain  no  lofty  im- 
provement without  this ;  but  without  it,  he  can  gain  no 
tolerable  happiness.  So  that  he  who  gives  himself  up 
to  utter  indolence,  finds  it  too  hard  for  him  ;  and  is 
obliged  in  self-defence,  unless  he  be  an  idiot,  to  do 
something.  The  miserable  victims  of  idleness  and 
ennui,  driven  at  last  from  their  chosen  resort,  are 
compelled  to  work,  to  do  something ;  yes,  to  employ 
their  wretched  and  worthless  lives  in — "  killing  timer 
They  must  hunt  down  the  hours  as  their  prey.  Yes, 
time — that  mere  abstraction — that  sinks  light  as  the 
air  upon  the  eye-lids  of  the  busy  and  the  weary,  to  the 
idle  is  an  enemy,  clothed  with  gigantic  armor ;  and 
they  must  kill  it,  or  themselves  die.  They  cannot  live 
in  mere  idleness  ;  and  all  the  difference  between  them 
and  others  is,  that  they  employ  their  activity  to  no 
useful  end.  They  find,  indeed,  that  the  hardest  work 
in  the  world  is,  to  do  nothing  ! 

This  reference  to  the  class  of  mere  idlers  as  it  is 
called,  leads  me  to  offer  one  specification  in  laying 
down  this  law  concerning  industry.  Suppose  a  man. 
then,  to  possess  an  immense,  a  boundless  fortune,  and 
that  he  holds  himself  discharged,  in  consequence,  from 
all  the  ordinary  cares  and  labors  of  life.  Now,  I  main- 
tain, that  in  order  to  be  either  an  improving,  worthy 


AND    HIE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  70 

or  happy  man,  lw  must  do  one  of  two  things.  II< 
must  cither  devote  himself  to  the  accomplishment  of 
some  public  objects ;  or  he  must  devote  some  hours 
of  every  day  to  his  own  intellectual  cultivation.  In 
any  case,  he  must  be,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  laborious 
man.  The  thought  of  his  heart  may  be  far  different 
from  this.  He  may  think  it  his  special  privilege,  as  a 
man  of  fortune,  to  be  exempt  from  all  care  and  effort. 
To  lounge  on  soft  couches,  to  walk  in  pleasant  gardens, 
to  ride  out  for  exercise,  and  to  come  home  for  feast- 
ing— this  may  be  his  plan.  But  it  will  never  do.  It 
never  did  yet  answer  for  any  human  being,  and  it 
never  will.  God  has  made  a  law  against  it,  which  no 
human  power  ever  could  annul,  nor  human  ingenuity 
evade.  That  law  is,  that  upon  labor,  either  of  the 
body  or  of  the  mind,  all  essential  well-being  shall  de- 
pend. And  if  this  law  be  not  complied  with,  I  verily 
believe  that  wealth  is  only  a  curse,  and  luxury  only  a 
more  slippery  road  to  destruction.  The  poor  idler,  I 
verily  believe,  is  safer  than  the  rich  idler :  and  I  doubt, 
whether  he  is  not  happier.  I  doubt  whether  the  most 
miserable  vagrancy,  that  sleeps  in  barns  and  sheds, 
and  feeds  upon  the  fragments  of  other  men's  ta- 
bles, and  leaves  its  tattered  garments  upon  every 
hedge,  is  so  miserable,  as  surfeited  opulence,  sighing 
in  palaces,  sunk  in  the  lethargy  of  indolence,  loaded 
with  plethory,  groaning  with  weariness  which  no 
wholesome  fatigue  ever  comes  to  relieve.  The  vagrant 
is,  at  least,  obliged  to  walk  from  place  to  place,  and 
thus  far  has  the  advantage  over  his  fellow  idler  who 
can  ride.  Yes,  he  walks  abroad  in  the  fair  morning — 
no  soft  couch  detains  him — he  walks  abroad  among 
the  fresh  fields,  by  the  sunny  hedges  and  along  the 


80  THE    USES    OF    LABOR, 

silent  lanes,  singing  his  idle  song  as  he  goes — a  crea- 
ture poor  and  wretched  enough,  no  doubt — but  I  am 
tempted  to  say,  if  I  must  be  idle,  give  me  that  lot,  ra- 
ther than  to  sit  in  the  cheerless  shadow  of  palace  roofs, 
or  to  toss  on  downy  beds  of  sluggish  stupor  or  rack- 
ing pain. 

I  have  thus  endeavored  to  state  one  of  the  cardinal 
and  inflexible  laws  of  all  human  improvement  and  hap- 
piness, I  have  already  premised,  that  my  purpose  in 
doing  so,  was  to  speak  of  the  spirit  of  gain,  of  the 
eagerness  for  fortune,  as  characteristics  of  modern 
business,  which  tend  to  the  dishonor  and  violation  of 
the  law  of  labor. 

In  proceeding  to  do  this,  let  me  more  generally  ob- 
serve, in  the  first  place,  that  there  has  always  been  a 
public  opinion  in.the  world,  derogatory  to  labor.  The 
necessity  of  exertion,  though  it  is  the  very  law  under 
which  God  has  placed  mankind  for  their  improvement 
and  virtue,  has  always  been  regarded  as  a  kind  of  de^ 
gradation — has  always  been  felt  as  a  kind  of  reproach. 
With  the  exception  of  a  few  great  geniuses,  none  so 
great  as  those  who  do  nothing.  Freedom  from  the  ne^ 
cessity  of  exertion  is  looked  upon  as  a  privileged 
condition  ;  it  is  encircled  with  admiring  eyes  ;  it  abso- 
lutely gathers  dignity  and  honor  about  it.  One  might 
think  that  a  man  would  make  some  apologies  for  it,  to 
the  toiling  world.  Not  at  all ;  he  is  proud  of  it.  It 
is  for  the  busy  man  to  make  apologies.  He  hopes  you 
will  excuse  him  ;  he  must  work,  or  he  must  attend 
to  his  business.  You  would  think  he  was  about  to 
do  some  mean  action.  You  would  think  he  was  about 
to  do  something  of  which  he  is  ashamed.  And  he 
is  ashamed  of  it ! 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  St 

The  time  has  hardly  gone  by,  when  even  literary 
labor — labor  of  the  mind,  the  noblest  of  all  labor,  has 
suffered  under  this  disparaging  estimate.  Authorship 
has  always  been  held  to  be  the  proper  subject  for  the 
patronage  of  condition.  Some  of  the  most  distinguish- 
ed authors,  have  lived  in  obscurity,  compared  with  the 
rich  and  fashionable  around  them,  and  have  only  forced 
their  way  into  posthumous  celebrity.  The  rewards  of 
intellectual  toil  have  usually  been  stinted  to  the  provision 
of  a  bare,  humble  subsistence.  .  Not  seldom  has  the  re  • 
ward  been  scarcely  a  remove  from  starvation.  But 
when  we  descend  to  manual  labor,  the  comparison  is 
still  more  striking.  The  laboring  classes,  operatives  as 
they  are  significantly  called  in  these  days,  are  generally 
regarded  but  as  a  useful  machinery  to  produce  and 
manufacture  comforts  and  luxuries  for  those  that  can 
buy  them.  And  the  laboring  classes  are  so  regarded, 
mainly,  not  because  they  are  less  informed  and  culti- 
vated, though  that  may  be  true,  but  because  they  are 
the  laboring  classes.  Let  any  one  of  them  be  suddenly 
endowed  with  a  fortune,  let  him  be  made  independent 
of  labor,  and  without  any  change  of  character,  he  im- 
mediately, in  the  general  estimation,  takes  his  place 
among  what  are  called  the  upper  classes.  In  those 
countries  where  the  favoritism  extended  to  the  aristo- 
cracy, has  made  many  of  its  members  the  vainest, 
most  frivolous  and  useless  of  beings,  it  must  be  ap- 
parent, that  many  persons  among  the  business  classes 
are  altogether  their  superiors  in  mind,  in  refinement, 
in  all  the  noblest  qualities  ;  and  yet  does  the  bare  cir- 
cumstance of  pecuniary  independence  carry  it  over 
every  thing.  They  walk  abroad  in  lordly  pride,  and 
the  children  of  toil  on  every  side,  do  homage  to  them. 


82  THE    USES   OF   LABOR, 

Let  such  an  one  enter  any  one  of  the  villages  of  Eng- 
land or  of  this  country,  let  him  live  there — with  no- 
thing to  do  and  doing  nothing,  the  year  round — and 
those  who  labor  in  the  field  and  the  workshop,  will 
look  upon  him,  in  bare  virtue  of  his  ability  to  be  idle, 
as  altogether  their  superior.  Yes,  those  who  have 
wrought  well  in  the  great  school  of  providence,  who 
have  toiled  faithfully  at  their  tasks  and  learned  them, 
will  pay  this  mental  deference  to  the  truant,  to  the 
idler,  to  him  who  learns  nothing  and  does  nothing — 
aye,  and  because  he  does  nothing.  Nay,  in  that  holy 
church,  whose  ministry  is  the  strongest  bond  to  phi- 
lanthropic exertion,  the  clergy,  the  very  ministry  of 
him  who  went  about  doing  good,  and  had  not  where 
to  lay  his  head,  sinks,  in  the  estimation  of  the  whole 
world  to  the  lowest  point  of  depression,  the  moment 
it  is  called  "  a  working  clergy."  That  very  epithet, 
working,  seems,  in  spite  of  every  counteracting  con- 
sideration, to  be  a  stigma  upon  every  thing  to  which 
it  can  be  applied. 

But  besides  this  general  opinion,  there  is  a  specific 
opinion  or  way  of  thinking,  to  which  I  have  already 
referred,  as  opposed  to  our  principle,  and  to  which  I 
wish  now  to  invite  your  more  particular  attention. 
This  opinion  or  way  of  thinking,  I  must  endeavor  to 
describe  with  some  care,  as  it  constitutes  the  basis  of 
fact,  from  which  the  moral  reflections  of  the  remain- 
der of  this  discourse  will  arise. 

It  will  be  admitted,  then,  in  the  general,  I  think, 
that  modern  business — modern,  I  mean,  as  compared 
with  that  of  an  hundred  or  even  fifty  years  ago — has 
assumed  a  new  character ;  that  it  has  departed  from 
the  staidness,  regularity  and   moderation  of  former 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  H'3 

days.  The  times  when  the  business  of  the  father  de- 
scended to  the  son,  and  was  expectejd  to  pass  down  as 
an  heir-loom  in  the  family  ;  when  the  risks  were  small 
and  the  gains  were  moderate,  or  if  ample,  still  com- 
paratively sure,  seem  to  have  given  way  to  the  intense 
desire  and  the  hazardous  pursuit,  of  immediate  and 
immense  accumulation.  It  is  not  necessary  to  the 
statement  I  am  making,  that  I  should  enter  into  the 
causes  of  this  change.  They  are,  doubtless,  to  be 
found  in  the  unusual  opportunities  for  gain,  in  the  ex- 
traordinary extension  of  credits,  and  I  think  also,  in 
the  rapid  expansion  of  the  principle  of  liberty — that 
is  to  say,  in  the  intellectual  activity,  personal  ambition 
and  unfettered  enterprize,  which  that  principle  has  in- 
troduced into  society.  But  whatever  be  the  causes  of 
the  change,  it  will  not  be  denied,  I  presume,  that  there 
has  sprung  up  in  connection  with  it,  a  new  view  of 
acquisition ;  or  rather,  to  state  more  exactly  what  I 
mean,  that  a  view  of  acquisition,  which,  in  former 
time,  was  confined  to  a  few  minds,  has  now  taken 
possession  of  almost  the  entire  business  community, 
and  constitutes  therefore,  beyond  all  former  example, 
one  of  the  great  moral  features  of  the  times.  I  can- 
not, perhaps,  briefly  describe  this  view  better  than  by 
denominating  it,  a.  passion  for  making  a  fortune,  and 
for  making  it  speedily.  I  do  not,  of  course,  mean  to 
say  that  this  passion  has  not  existed  before.  The  love 
of  money  has  always  been  a  desire  so  strong,  that  it 
has  needed  for  its  restraint,  all  the  checks  and  admoni- 
tions of  reason  and  religion.  There  have  always  been 
those  who  have  set  their  affections  and  expectations 
on  a  fortune,  as  something  indispensable  to  their  hap- 
piness.   There  have  also  appeared,  from  time  to  time, 


84  THE    USES    OF    LABOR, 

seasons  of  rash  and  raging  speculation,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  South  Sea  and  Mississippi  stocks  in  England } 
disturbing,  however,  but  occasionally  the  regular  pro- 
gress of  business.  But  the  case  with  us,  now,  is  dif- 
ferent. We  have,  at  length,  become  conversant  with 
times,  in  which  these  seasons  of  excess  and  hazard  in 
business  are  succeeding  one  another  periodically,  and 
with  but  brief  intervals.  The  pursuit  of  property, 
and  that  in  no  moderate  amount,  has  acquired  at  once, 
an  unprecedented  activity  and  universality.  The 
views,  with  which  multitudes  now  are  entering  into 
business,  are  not  of  gaining  a  subsistence — they  dis- 
dain the  thought — not  barely  of  pursuing  a  proper 
and  useful  calling — that  it  is  far  beneath  their  ambition ; 
but  of  acquiring  a  fortune — of  acquiring  ease  and 
independence.  In  accordance  with  this  view,  is  the 
common  notion  of  retiring  from  business.  It  is  true, 
that  we  do  not  see  much  of  this  retiring,  but  we  hear 
much  about  it.  The  passion  exists,  though  the  course 
of  business  is  so  rash  as  constantly  to  disappoint,  or 
so  eager  as  finally  to  overcome  it. 

In  saying  that  a  great  change  is  passing  over  the 
business  character  of  the  world,  and  that  it  is  in  some 
respects  dangerous,  I  do  not  intend  to  say,  that  it  is 
altogether  bad,  or  even,  that  there  is  necessarily  more 
evil  than  good  in  it.  I  hold  it  to  be  an  advantage  to 
the  world,  that  restrictions,  like  those  of  the  guilds  of 
Germany  and  the  Borough  laws  in  England,  are 
thrown  off,  and  that  a  greater  number  of  competitors 
can  enter  the  lists,  and  run  the  race  for  the  comforts 
and  luxuries  of  life.  The  prizes,  too,  will  be  smaller 
as  the  competitors  are  more  numerous ;  and  that,  I 
hold,  will  be  an  advantage.     I  believe,  also,  that  the 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  85 

system  of  doing  business  on  credit,  in  a  young  and  en- 
terprising country,  is,  within  proper  bounds,  useful ; 
and  that  our  own,  owes  a  part  of  its  unexampled 
growth  and  prosperity  to  this  cause.  I  only  say,  what 
I  think  all  will  admit,  that  from  these  causes,  there  are 
tendencies  in  the  business  of  the  country  which  are 
dangerous. 

But  to  return  to  my  statement ;  I  undertake  to  say, 
not  only  in  general,  that  there  are  wrong  practical 
tendencies,  but  that  there  is  a  way  of  thinking  about 
business  which  is  wrong.  Your  practical  advisers 
may  tell  you  that  there  has  been  over-trading,  that 
this  is  the  great  evil,  and  that  it  must  be  avoided  in 
future.  I  do  not  say,  for  I  do  not  know,  whether  this 
has  been  the  great  evil  or  not ;  but  this  I  say,  that  it 
probably  will  not  be  avoided  in  future,  if  it  has  been 
the  evil.  And  why  not  ?  Because  there  is  an  evil 
beneath  the  evil  alleged,  and  that  is  an  excessive  de- 
sire for  property,  an  eagerness  for  fortune.  In  other 
words,  there  is  a  wrong  way  of  thinking,  which  lies 
like  a  canker  at  the  root  of  all  wholesome  moderation. 
The  veiy  idea  that  property  is  to  be  acquired  in 
the  course  of  ten  or  twenty  years,  which  shall  suffice 
for  the  rest  of  life,  that  by  some  prosperous  traffic  or 
grand  speculation,  all  the  labor  of  life  is  to  be  accom- 
plished in  a  brief  portion  of  it,  that  by  dexterous  man- 
agement, a  large  part  of  the  term  of  human  existence 
is  to  be  exonerated  from  the  laws  of  industry  and  self- 
denial — all  this  way  of  thinking,  I  contend,  is  founded 
in  a  mistake  of  the  true  nature  and  design  of  business, 
and  of  the  conditions  of  human  well-being. 

I  do  not  say — still  to  discriminate — that  it  is  wrong 
to  desire  wealth,  and  even,  with  a  favorable  and  safe 

8 


86  THE    USES    OF   LABOR, 

opportunity,  to  seek  the  rapid  accumulation  of  it.  A 
man  may  have  noble  ends  to  accomplish  by  such  ac- 
cumulation. He  may  design  to  relieve  his  destitute 
friends  or  kindred.  He  may  desire  to  foster  good  in- 
stitutions, and  to  help  good  objects.  Or,  he  may  wish 
to  retire  to  some  other  sphere  of  usefulness  and  exer- 
tion, which  shall  be  more  congenial  to  his  taste  and 
affections.  But  it  is  a  different  feeling,  it  is  the  desire 
of  accumulation  for  the  sake  of  securing  a  life  of  ease 
and  gratification — for  the  sake  of  escaping  from  exer- 
tion and  self-denial — this  is  the  wrong  way  of  think- 
ing which  I  would  point  out,  and  which  I  maintain  to 
be  common.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  universal  among 
the  seekers  of  wealth.  I  do  not  say  that  all  who  pro- 
pose to  retire  from  business,  propose  to  retire  to  a  life 
of  complete  indolence  or  indulgence  ;  but  I  say  that 
many  do ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  say,  that  all  propose  to 
themselves  an  independence,  and  an  exemption  from 
the  necessity  of  exertion,  which  are  not  likely  to  be 
good  for  them  ;  and,  moreover,  that  they  wed  them- 
selves to  these  ideas  of  independence  and  exemption, 
to  a  degree,  that  is  altogether  irrational,  unchristian 
and  inconsistent  with  the  highest  and  noblest  views  of 
life.  That  a  man  should  desire  so  to  provide  for  him- 
self, as  in  case  of  sickness  or  disability,  not  to  be  a 
burthen  upon  his  friends  or  the  public,  or  in  case  of 
his  death,  that  his  family  should  not  be  thus  dependent, 
is  most  reasonable,  proper  and  wise.  But  that  a  man 
should  wear  out  half  of  his  life  in  an  almost  slavish 
devotion  to  business,  that  he  should  neglect  his  health, 
comfort  and  mind,  and  waste  his  very  heart,  with 
anxiety,  and  all  to  build  a  castle  of  indolence  in  some 
fairy  land — this,  I  hold,  to  be  unwise  and  wrong.     I 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  87 

am  saying  nothing  now  of  particular  emergencies  into 
which  a  man  may  rightly  or  wrongly  have  brought 
himself;  I  speak  only  of  the  general  principle. 

And  the  principle,  I  say,  in  the  first  place,  is  un- 
wiie,  wrong,  injurious  and  dangerous,  with  reference 
to  business  itself.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  different 
views  of  business,  implied  in  the  foregoing  remarks, 
will  impart  to  the  whole  process  a  different  character. 
If  a  man  enters  upon  it  as  the  occupation  of  his  life, 
if  he  looks  upon  it  as  a  useful  and  honorable  course, 
if  he  is  interested  in  its  moral  uses,  and,  what  we  de- 
mand of  every  high-minded  profession,  if  he  thinks 
more  of  its  uses  than  of  its  fruits — more  of  a  high  and 
honorable  character  than  of  any  amount  of  gains — 
and  if,  in  fine,  he  is  willing  to  conform  to  that  ordinance 
of  Heaven  which  has  appointed  industry,  action,  effort, 
to  be  the  spring  of  improvement,  then,  of  course,  he 
will  calmly  and  patiently  address  himself  to  his  task, 
and  fulfil  it  with  wisdom  and  moderation.  But  if  busi- 
ness is  a  mere  expedient  to  gain  a  fortune,  a  race  run 
for  a  prize,  a  game  played  for  a  great  stake  ;  then  it  as 
naturally  follows  that  there  will  be  eagerness  and  ab- 
sorption, hurry  and  anxiety ;  it  will  be  a  race  for  the 
swift,  and  a  game  for  the  dexterous,  and  a  battle  for 
the  strong ;  life  will  be  turned  into  a  scene  of  hazard 
and  strife,  and  its  fortunes  will  often  hang  upon  the 
cast  of  a  die. 

I  must  add  that  the  danger  of  all  this  is  greatly  in- 
creased by  a  circumstance  already  alluded  to  ;  I  mean 
the  rapid  expansion  of  the  principle  of  political  free- 
dom. Perhaps,  the  first  natural  development  of  that 
principle  was  to  be  looked  for  in  the  pursuit  of  pro- 
perty.    Property  is  the  most  obvious  form  of  individ- 


88  THE    USES    OF    LABOR, 

ual  power,  the  most  immediate  and  palpable  ministra- 
tion to  human  ambition.  It  was  natural,  when  the 
weights  and  burthens  of  old  restrictions  were  taken  off, 
that  men  should  first  rush  into  the  career  of  accumu- 
lation. I  say  restrictions;  but  there'  have  been  re- 
straints upon  the  mind,  which  are,  perhaps,  yet  more 
worthy  of  notice.  The  mass  of  mankind,  in  former 
ages,  have  ever  felt  that  the  high  and  splendid  prizes 
of  life  were  not  for  them.  They  have  consented  to 
poverty,  or  to  mediocrity  at  the  utmost,  as  their  inev- 
itable lot.  But  a  new  arena  is  now  spread  for  them, 
and  they  are  looking  to  the  high  places  of  society  as 
within  their  reach.  The  impulse  imparted  to  private 
ambition  by  this  possibility,  has  not,  I  think,  been  fully 
considered,  and  it  cannot,  perhaps,  be  fully  calculated. 
And  it  should  also  be  brought  into  the  account,  that 
our  imperfect  civilization  has  not  yet  gone  beyond  the 
point  of  awarding  a  leading,  and,  perhaps,  paramount 
consideration  in  society,  to  mere  wealth.  Conceive, 
then,  what  must  be  the  effect,  upon  a  man  in  humble 
and  straitened  circumstances,  of  the  idea  that  it  is  pos- 
sible for  him  to  rise  to  this  distinction.  The  thoughts 
of  his  youth,  perhaps,  have  been  lowly  and  unaspir- 
ing :  they  have  belonged  to  that  place  which  has  been 
assigned  him  in  the  old  regime  of  society.  But  in  the 
rapid  progress  of  that  equalizing  system  which  is 
spreading  itself  over  the  world,  and  amidst  the  unpre- 
cedented facilities  of  modern  business,  a  new  idea  is 
suddenly  presented  to  him.  As  he  travels  along  the 
dusty  road  of  toil,  visions  of  a  palace — of  splendor, 
and  equipage  and  state,  rise  before  him ;  his  may  be 
the  most  enviable  and  distinguished  lot  in  the  country ; 
he  who  is  now  a  slave  of  the  counting-room  or  coun- 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  89 

ter,  of  the  work-bench  or  the  carman's  stand,  may  yet 
be  one,  to  whom  the  highest  in  the  land  shall  bow  in 
homage.  Conceive,  I  say,  the  effect  of  this  new  idea 
upon  an  individual,  and  upon  a  community.  It  must 
give  an  unprecedented  and  dangerous  impulse  to  soci- 
ety. It  must  lead  to  extraordinary  efforts  and  meas- 
ures for  acquisition.  It  will  have  the  most  natural 
effect  upon  the  extension  of  traffic  and  the  employ- 
ment of  credit.  It  may  be  expected,  that  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, men  will  borrow  and  bargain  as  they 
have  never  done  before ;  that  the  lessons  of  the  old 
prudence  will  be  laid  aside  ;  that  the  old  plodding  and 
pains-taking  course  will  not  do  for  the  excited  and 
stimulated  spirit  of  such  an  age. 

This  eagerness  for  acquiring  fortunes,  tends  equally 
to  defeat  the  ultimate,  the  providential  design  of  busi- 
ness. That  design,  I  have  said,  is  to  train  men  by 
action,  by  labor  and  care,  by  the  due  exertion  of  their 
faculties,  to  mental  and  moral  accomplishment.  It  is 
necessary  to  this  end,  that  business  should  be  con- 
ducted with  regularity,  patience  and  calmness ;  that 
the  mind  should  not  be  diverted  from  a  fair  applica- 
tion of  its  powers,  by  any  exaggerated  or  fanciful  esti- 
mate of  the  results.  Especially,  if  that  contemplation 
of  results  involves  the  idea  of  escaping  from  all  care 
and  occupation,  must  it  constantly  hinder  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  providential  design.  The  very  spirit  of 
business  tlien,  is  the  spirit  of  resistance  to  that  design. 
But  even  if  it  were  not,  yet  it  is  evident,  that  neither 
the  mental  nor  moral  faculties  of  a  human  being  have 
any  fair  chance,  amidst  agitations  and  anxieties, 
amidst  dazzling  hopes  and  disheartening  fears.  Cer- 
tainly, it  must  be  admitted,  that  a  time  of  excessive 

8* 


90  THE    USES    OF    LABOR, 

absorption  in  business,  is  any  thing  but  a  period  of 
improvement.  How  many  in  such  seasons  have  sunk 
in  character,  and  in  all  the  aims  of  life — have  lost  their 
habits  of  reading  and  reflection,  their  habits  of  medi- 
tation and  prayer ! 

Business,  in  its  ultimate,  its  providential  design,  is  a 
school.  Neglected,  forgotten,  perhaps  ridiculed,  as 
this  consideration  may  be,  it  is  the  great  and  solemn 
truth.  Man  is  placed  in  this  school,  as  a  learner  of 
lessons  for  eternity.  What  he  shall  learn,  not  what  he 
shall  get,  is  of  chief,  of  eternal  import  to  him.  As  to 
property,  "  it  is  certain,"  to  use  the  language  of  an 
Apostle,  "  that  as  we  brought  nothing  into  this  world, 
we  can  carry  nothing  out  of  it."  But  there  is  one 
thing  which  we  shall  carry  out  of  it,  and  that  is,  the 
character  which  we  have  formed  in  the  very  pursuits, 
by  which  property  has  been  acquired. 

In  the  next  place,  this  passion  for  rapid  accumula- 
tion, thus  pushed  to  eagerness  and  vehemence,  and 
liable  to  be  urged  to  rashness  and  recklessness,  leads 
to  another  evil,  which  to  any  rational  apprehension 
of  things,  cannot  be  accounted  small ;  and  that  is  the 
evil  of  sacrificing  in  business,  the  end  to  the  means. 

"  Live  while  you  live,"  is  a  maxim  which  has  a  good 
sense  as  well  as  a  bad  one.  But  the  man  who  is  sa- 
crificing all  the  proper  ends  of  life,  for  something  to 
be  enjoyed  twenty  years  hence,  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  live  while  he  lives.  He  is  not  living-  now  in  any  sat- 
isfactory way,  he  confesses ;  he  is  going  to  live  by 
and  by  ;  that  is,  when  and  where  he  does  not  live,  and 
never  may  live  ;  nay,  where,  it  is  probable,  he  never 
will  live.  For  not  one  man  in  thirty,  of  those  who  in- 
tend to  retire  from  business,  ever  does  retire.     And 


AND    THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  91 

yet,  how  many  suffer  this  dream  about  retiring,  to 
cheat  them  out  of  the  substantial  ends  of  acquisition — 
comfort,  improvement,  happiness,  as  they  go  on. 

How  then  stands  the  account  ?  In  seeking  property, 
a  man  has  certain  ends  in  view.  Does  he  gain  them  ? 
The  lowest  of  them — comfort — does  he  gain  that  ? 
No,  he  will  tell  you,  he  has  little  enough  of  comfort. 
That  is  to  come.  Having  forsaken  the  path  of  regular 
and  moderate  and  sure  acquisition  in  which  his  fathers 
walked,  he  has  plunged  into  an  ocean  of  credit,  spread 
the  sails  of  adventurous  speculation,  is  tossed  upon 
the  giddy  and  uncertain  waves  of  a  fluctuating  cur- 
rency, and  liable,  any  day,  to  be  wrecked  by  the  storms 
that  are  sweeping  over  the  world  of  business.  The 
means,  the  means — of  ease,  of  comfort,  of  luxury — 
he  must  have ;  and  yet  the  things  themselves — ease, 
comfort,  and  the  true  enjoyment  of  luxury,  are  the  very 
things  which  he  constantly  fails  to  reach.  He  is  ever 
saying,  that  he  must  get  out  of  this  turmoil  of  business, 
and  yet  he  never  does  get  out  of  it.  The  very  eagerness 
of  the  pursuit,  not  only  deprives  him  of  all  ease  and  com- 
fort as  he  goes  on,  but  it  tends  constantly  to  push  the 
whole  system  of  business  to  that  excess,  which  brings 
about  certain  reaction  and  disappointment.  Were  it 
not  better  for  him  to  live  while  he  lives — to  enjoy  life 
as  it  passes  ?  Were  it  not  better  for  him  to  live  richer 
and  die  poorer  ?  Were  it  not  best  of  all  for  him  to 
banish  from  his  mind,  that  erring  dream  of  future  in- 
dolence and  indulgence  ;  and  to  address  himself  to  the 
business  of  life,  as  the  school  of  his  earthly  education  ; 
to  settle  it  with  himself  now,  that  independence  if  he 
gains  it,  is  not  to  give  him  exemption  from  employ- 
ment ;  that  in  order  to  be  a  happy  man,  he  must  aU 


92  THE    USES    OE    LABOR, 

ways,  with  the  mind  or  with  the  body,  or  with  both, 
be  a  laborer ;  and,  in  fine,  that  the  reasonable  exer- 
tion of  his  powers,  bodily  and  mental,  is  not  to  be  re- 
garded as  mere  drudgery,  but  as  a  good  discipline, 
a  wise  ordination,  a  training  in  this  primary  school  of 
our  being,  for  nobler  endeavors,  and  spheres  of  higher 
activity  hereafter?  For  never  surely  is  activity  to 
cease  ;  and  he  who  proposes  to  resign  half  his  life  to 
indolent  enjoyment,  can  scarcely  be  preparing  for  the 
boundless  range  and  the  intenser  life  that  is  to  come. 
But  there  are  higher  ends  of  acquisition  than  mere 
comfort.  For  I  suppose,  that  few  seekers  of  wealth  can 
be  found,  who  do  not  propose  mental  culture,  and  a 
beneficent  use  of  property,  as  among  their  objects. 
And  with  a  fulfilment  of  these  purposes,  a  moderate 
pursuit  is  perfectly  compatible.  But  how  is  it,  when 
that  pursuit  becomes  an  eager  and  absorbing  strife  for 
fortune  ?  What  is  the  language  of  fact  and  experi- 
ence ?  Amidst  such  engrossing  pursuits,  is  there  any 
time  for  reading  ?  Are  any  literary  habits,  or  any  hab- 
its of  mental  culture,  formed  ?  I  suppose  these  ques- 
tions carry  with  them  their  own  answer.  But  the 
over-busy  man,  though  he  is  neglecting  his  mind  now, 
means  to  repair  that  error  by  and  by.  That  is  the 
greatest  mistake  of  all.  He  will  not  find  the  habits  he 
wants,  all  prepared  and  ready  for  him,  like  that  plea- 
sant mansion  of  repose  to  which  he  is  looking.  He 
will  find  habits  there,  indeed  ;  but  they  will  be  the  hab- 
its he  has  been  cultivating  for  twenty  years ;  not 
those  he  has  been  neglecting,  The  truth  he  will  then 
find  to  be,  that  he  does  not  love  to  read  or  study,  that 
he  never  did  love  it,  and  that  he  probably  never  will 
love  it. 


AND    THE    IWSMO.N    FOR    A    FORTl  \i:.  93 

1  do  not  say  thai  reading  is  die  only  means  of  men- 
tal cultivation.  Business  itself  may  invigorate,  en- 
large and  elevate  the  mind.  But  then  it  must  be,  be- 
cause large  views  are  taken  of  it;  because  the  mind 
travels  beyond  the  counter  and  the  desk,  and  studies 
the  geography,  politics  and  social  tendencies  of  the 
world  ;  investigates  the  laws  of  trade,  and  the  philoso- 
phy of  mechanism,  and  speculates  upon  the  morals 
and  ends  of  all  business.  Nay,  and  the  trader  and  the 
craftsman,  if  he  would  duly  cultivate  his  mind,  must, 
like  the  lawyer,  physician  and  clergyman,  travel  be- 
yond the  province  of  his  own  profession,  and  bring  the 
contributions  of  every  region  of  thought,  to  build  him- 
self up  in  the  strength  and  manhood  of  his  intellectual 
nature. 

And  therefore,  1  say,  with  double  force  of  assevera- 
tion, that  he  who  has  pursued  business  in  such  a  way 
as  to  have  neglected  all  just  mental  culture,  has  sa- 
crificed the  end  to  the  means.  He  has  gained  money, 
and  lost  knowledge  ;  he  has  gained  splendor,  and  lost 
accomplishment ;  gained  tinsel,  and  lost  gold  ;  gained 
an  estate,  and  lost  an  empire — gained  the  world,  and 
lost  his  soul. 

And  thus  it  is  with  all  the  ends  of  accumulation. 
The  beneficent  use,  the  moral  elevation,  which  every 
high-minded  man  will  propose  to  himself,  are  sacri- 
ficed in  the  eagerness  of  the  pursuit.  A  man  may 
give,  and  give  liberally  ;  but  this  may  be  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  using  property  beneficently  and  wisely. 
I  confess,  that  on  this  account,  I  look  with  exceeding 
distrust  upon  all  our  city  charities  ;  because  men  have 
no  time  to  look  into  the  cases  and  questions  that  are  pre- 
sented to  them  ;  because  they  give  recklessly,  without 


94  THE    USES    OF    LABOR, 

system  or  concert.  I  believe  that  immense  streams 
of  charity  are  annually  flowing  around  us,  which  tend 
only  to  deepen  the  channels  of  poverty  and  misery. 
He  who  gives  money,  to  save  time,  cannot  be  acting 
wisely  for  others  ;  and  he  who  does  good  only  by 
agents  and  almoners,  cannot  be  acting  wisely  for  him- 
self. And  yet,  this  is  the  course  to  which  excessive 
devotion  to  gain  must  lead.  The  man  has  no  time  to 
think  for  himself;  and,  therefore,  custom  must  be  his 
law,  or  his  clergyman,  perhaps,  is  his  conscience. 
He  is  an  excellent  disciple  in  the  school  of  implicit 
submission.  He  attends  a  sound  divine;  he  gives 
bountifully  to  the  missions  or  to  the  alms-houses  ;  he 
suffers  himself  to  be  assessed,  perhaps,  in  the  one  tenth 
of  his  income  ;  and  there  end  with  him  all  the  uses  and 
responsibilities  of  wealth.  His  mind  is  engrossed  with 
acquisition  to  that  extent,  that  he  has  no  proper  regard 
to  the  ends  of  acquisition.  Nay  more,  he  comes,  per* 
haps,  to  that  pass  in  fatuity,  that  he  substitutes  alto- 
gether the  means  for  the  end,  and  embraces  his  pos- 
sessions with  the  insane  grasp  of  the  miser. 

On  the  whole,  and  in  fine,  this  passion  for  a  fortune 
diverts  man  from  his  true  dignity,  his  true  function — ■ 
which  lies  in  exertion,  in  labor. 

I  can  conceive  of  reasons,  why  I  might  lawfully, 
and  even  earnestly  desire  a  fortune.  If  I  could  fill 
some  fair  palace,  itself  a  work  of  art,  with  the  produc- 
tions of  lofty  genius  ;  if  I  could  be  the  friend  and  help- 
er of  humble  worth — if  I  could  mark  it  out,  where 
failing  health  or  adverse  fortune  pressed  it  hard,  and 
soften  or  stay  the  bitter  hours  that  are  hastening  it  to 
madness  or  to  the  grave ;  if  I  could  stand  between 
the  oppressor  and  his  prey,  and  bid  the  fetter  and  the 


AND   THE    PASSION    FOR   A    FORTUNE.  95 

dungeon  give  up  its  victim;  if  I  could  build  up  great 
institutes  of  learning  and  academies  of  art;  if  I  could 
open  fountains  of  knowledge  for  the  people,  and  con- 
duct its  streams  in  the  right  channels ;  if  I  could  do 
better  for  the  poor  than  to  bestow  alms  upon  them — 
even  to  think  of  them,  and  devise  plans  for  their  eleva- 
tion in  knowledge  and  virtue,  instead  of  for  ever  open- 
ing the  old  reservoirs  and  resources  for  their  improvi- 
dence ;  if,  in  fine,  wealth  could  be  to  me,  the  handmaid 
of  exertion,  facilitating  effort  and  giving  success  to  en- 
deavor, then  might  I  lawfully,  and  yet  warily  and  mod- 
estly, desire  it.  But  if  wealth  is  to  do  nothing  for  me 
but  to  minister  ease  and  indulgence,  and  to  place  my 
children  in  the  same  bad  school,  I  fearlessly  say,  though 
it  be  in  face  of  the  world's  dread  laugh,  that  I  do  not 
see  why  I  should  desire  it,  and  that  I  do  not  desire  it ! 
Are  my  reasons  asked  for  this  strange  decision? 
Another,  in  part,  shall  give  them  for  me.  "  Two  men," 
says  a  quaint  writer,  "  two  men  I  honor,  and  no  third. 
First,  the  toil-worn  craftsman,  that  with  earth-made  im- 
plement laboriously  conquers  the  earth,  and  makes  her 
man'.s.  Venerable  to  me  is  the  hard  hand ;  crooked, 
coarse  ;  wherein,  notwithstanding,  lies  a  cunning  vir- 
tue, indefeasibly  royal,  as  of  the  sceptre  of  this  plan- 
et. Venerable,  too,  is  the  rugged  face,  all  weather- 
tanned,  besoiled,  with  its  rude  intelligence ;  for  it  is 
the  face  of  a  man,  living  man-like.  Oh,  but  the  more 
venerable  for  thy  rudeness,  and  even  because  we  must 
pity  as  well  as  love  thee  !  Hardly-entreated  brother ! 
For  us  was  thy  back  so  bent,  for  us  were  thy  straight 
limbs  and  fingers  so  deformed.  Thou  wert  our  con- 
script, on  whom  the  lot  fell,  and  fighting  our  battles, 
wert  so  marred.     For  in  thee,  too,  lay  a  God-created 


96  THE    USES    OF    LABOR* 

form,  but  it  was  not  to  be  unfolded ;  encrusted  must 
it  stand  with  the  thick  adhesions  and  defacement  of  la- 
bor ;  and  thy  body,  like  thy  soul,  was  not  to  know 
freedom.  Yet  toil  on,  toil  on;  thou  art  in  thy  duty, 
be  out  of  it  who  may ;  thou  toilest  for  the  altogether 
indispensable,  for  daily  bread. 

"  A  second  man  I  honor,  and  still  more  highly ;  him 
who  is  seen  toiling  for  the  spiritually  indispensable  ;  not 
daily  bread,  but  the  bread  of  life.  Is  not  he,  too,  in 
his  duty ;  endeavoring  towards  inward  harmony ;  re- 
vealing this,  by  act  or  by  word,  through  all  his  out- 
ward endeavors,  be  they  high  or  low  ?  Highest  of  all, 
when  his  outward  and  his  inward  endeavor  are  one  ; 
when  we  can  name  him  artist ;  not  earthly  craftsman 
only,  but  inspired  thinker,  that  with  heaven-made  im- 
plement conquers  heaven  for  us !  If  the  poor  and 
humble  toil  that  we  have  food,  must  not  the  high  and 
glorious  toil  for  him,  in  return,  that  he  have  light  and 
guidance,  freedom,  immortality  ? — These  two,  in  all 
their  degrees,  I  honor ;  all  else  is  chaff  and  dust,  which 
let  the  wind  blow  whither  it  listeth. 

"  Unspeakably  touching  is  it,  however,  when  I  find 
both  dignities  united ;  and  he,  that  must  toil  outwardly 
for  the  lowest  of  man's  wants,  is  also  toiling  inwardly 
for  the  highest.  Sublimer  in  this  world  know  I  noth- 
ing, than  a  peasant  saint,  could  such  now,  any  where 
be  met  with.  Such  a  one  will  take  thee  back  to  Naz- 
areth itself;  thou  wilt  see  the  splendor  of  heaven 
spring  forth  from  the  humblest  depths  of  earth,  like  a 
light  shining  in  great  darkness."* 

And  who,  I  ask,  is  that  third  man,  that  challenges 

*  Thomas  Carlyle. 


AND   THE    PASSION    FOR    A    FORTUNE.  97 

our  respect  ?  Say,  that  the  world  were  made  to  be 
the  couch  of  his  repose,  and  the  heavens  to  curtain  it 
Grant,  that  the  revolving  earth  were  his  rolling  chariot, 
and  all  earth's  magnificence  were  the  drapery  that 
hung  around  his  gorgeous  rest ;  yet  could  not  that  au- 
gust voluptuary — let  alone  the  puny  idler  of  our  city 
streets — win  from  a  wise  man  one  sentiment  of  re- 
spect. What  is  there  glorious  in  the  world,  that  is  not 
the  product  of  labor,  either  of  the  body  or  of  the 
mind  2  What  is  history  but  its  record  ?  What  are 
the  treasures  of  genius  and  art,  but  its  work  ?  What 
are  cultivated  fields  but  its  toil  ?  The  busy  marts,  the 
rising  cities,  the  enriched  empires  of  the  world — what 
are  they,  but  the  great  treasure-houses  of  labor  ? 
The  pyramids  of  Egypt,  the  castles  and  towers  and 
temples  of  Europe,  the  buried  cities  of  Mexico — what 
are  they  but  tracks,  all  round  the  world,  of  the  mighty 
footsteps  of  labor  ?  Antiquity  had  not  been  without 
it.  Without  it,  there  were  no  memory  of  the  past ; 
without  it,  there  were  no  hope  for  the  future. 

Let  then  labor,  the  world's  great  ordinance,  take  its 
proper  place  in  the  world.  Let  idleness  too,  have  the 
meed  that  it  deserves.  Honor,  I  say  be  paid,  where- 
ever  it  is  due.  Honor,  if  you  please,  to  unchallenged 
indolence — for  that  which  all  the  world  admires,  hath, 
no  doubt,  some  ground  for  it — honor,  then,  to  undis- 
turbed, unchallenged  indolence — for  it  reposes  on 
treasures  that  labor  some  time  gained  and  gathered. 
It  is  the  effigy  of  a  man,  upon  a  splendid  mausoleum — 
somebody  built  that  mausoleum — somebody  put  that 
dead  image  there.  Honor  to  him  that  does  nothing, 
and  yet  does  not  starve  ;  he  hath  his  significance  still ; 
he  is  a  standing  proof  that  somebody  has  worked. 


98  THE    USES   OP   1ABOR,  <feC. 

Nay,  rather  let  us  say,  honor  to  the  worker — to 
the  toiler — to  him  who  produces,  and  not  alone  con- 
sumes— to  him  who  puts  forth  his  hand  to  add  to 
the  treasure-heap  of  human  comforts,  and  not  alone 
to  take  away !  Honor  to  him  who  goes  forth  amidst 
the  struggling  elements  to  fight  his  battle,  and  shrinks 
not,  with  cowardly  effeminacy,  behind  pillows  of  ease  ! 
Honor  to  the  strong  muscle  and  the  manly  nerve, 
and  the  resolute  and  brave  heart !  Honor  to  the 
sweaty  brow  and  to  the  toiling  brain  !  Honor  to  the 
great  and  beautiful  offices  of  humanity — to  manhood's 
toil  and  woman's  task — to  parental  industry,  to  mater- 
nal watching  and  weariness — to  teaching  wisdom  and 
patient  learning — to  the  brow  of  care  that  presides 
over  the  state,  and  to  many-handed  labor  that  toils 
in  the  work-shops  and  fields,  beneath  its  sacred  and 
guardian  sway ! 


99 


DISCOURSE  IV. 


ON    THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION. 


PROVERBS  XXX.  8,  9.      Give  me  neither   poverty  nor 

RICHES  ;  LEST  I  BE  FULL  AND  DENY  THEE,  AND  SAY,  WHO  IS  THE 
LORD?  OR  LEST  I  BE  POOR,  AND  STEAL,  AND  TAKE  THE  NAME  OF 
MY  GOD  IN  VAIN. 

In  my  last  discourse,  I  considered  some  of  the  evil 
consequences  of  the  passion  for  accumulation ;  in  the 
present,  I  propose  to  point  out  some  of  the  moral 
limits  to  be  set  to  that  passion.  In  other  words,  the 
limits  to  accumulation,  the  wholsome  restraints  upon 
the  passion  for  it,  which  are  prescribed  by  feelings  of 
general  philanthropy  and  justice,  by  the  laws  of  moral- 
ity, and  by  a  sober  consideration  of  the  natural  effects 
of  wealth  upon  ourselves,  our  children  and  the  world — 
these  are  the  topics  of  our  present  meditation. 

I  cannot  help  feeling  here  the  difficulties  under  which 
the  pulpit  labors,  in  the  discussion  of  the  points  now  be- 
fore us.  Some,  indeed,  will  think  them  unsuitable  to 
the  pulpit,  as  not  being  sufficiently  religious.  Others 
seem  to  be  disposed  to  limit  the  pulpit  to  the  utterance 
of  general  and  unquestionable  truths.  To  these  views 
I  cannot  assent.  The  points  which  I  am  discussing 
are,  in  the  highest  degree,  moral ;  they  are  practically 
religious  ;  they  belong  to  the  morality  and  religion  of 


100         THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF   ACCUMULATION, 

daily  life.  And  then  again,  as  to  what  the  preacher 
shall  say,  I  do  not  think  that  he  is  to  be  confined  to 
truisms,  or  to  self-evident  truths,  or  to  truths  in  which 
all  shall  agree.  We  come  here  to  deliberate  on  great 
questions  of  morality  and  duty ;  to  consider  what  is 
true,  what  is  right.  In  doing  this,  the  preacher  may 
bring  forward  views  in  which  some  of  his  hearers 
cannot  agree  with  him ;  how,  indeed,  should  it  be 
otherwise.  But  he  does  not  pretend  to  utter  infallible 
sentences.  He  may  be  wrong.  But  he  is  none  the 
less  bound  to  utter  what  he  does  believe,  and  thinks  to 
be  worthy  of  attention.  This  office  I  attempt  to  dis- 
charge among  you.  And  I  ask  you  not  to  take  ill,  at 
my  hands,  that  which  you  would  not  so  take,  if  I  utter- 
edit  by  your  fire-sides*  And  if  I  am  wrong,  on  some 
such  occasion,  perhaps,  you  will  set  me  right. 

Let  me  proceed,  then,  frankly  to  lay  before  you 
some  reflections  that  have  impressed  my  own  mind, 
in  regard  to  the  limitations  which  good  feeling,  justice 
and  wisdom  ought,  perhaps,  to  set  to  the  pursuit  of 
wealth. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  I  doubt  whether  this  im- 
mense accumulation  in  a  few  hands,  while  the  rest 
of  the  world  is  comparatively  poor,  does  not  imply  an 
unequal,  an  unfair  distribution  of  the  rewards  of  indus- 
try. I  may  be  wrong  on  this  point,  and  if  I  were  con- 
sidered as  speaking  with  any  authority  from  the  pulpit, 
I  should  not  make  the  suggestion.  Yet  speaking  as  I 
do,  with  no  assumption,  but  with  the  modesty  of 
doubt,  I  shall  venture  to  submit  this  point  to  your 
consideration. 

It  would  seem  to  be  an  evident  principle  of  human- 
ity and  justice,  that  property  and  the  means  of  com- 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF   ACCUMULATION.  101 

fort  should  boar  some  proportion  to  men's  industry. 
Now  we  know  that  they  do  not.  I  am  not  denying 
that,  in  general,  the  hard-working  man  labors  less 
with  the  mind  ;  and  that  he  is  often  kept  poor,  either 
b^  improvidence  and  wastefulness,  or  because  he  has 
less  energy  and  sagacity  than  others  bring  into  the  bu- 
siness of  life.  I  do  not  advocate  any  absurd  system  of 
agrarian  levelling.  I  believe  that  wealth  was  designed 
to  accumulate  in  certain  hands,  to  a  certain  extent ; 
because,  I  perceive,  that  this  naturally  results  from  the 
superior  talents  and  efforts  of  certain  individuals.  But 
I  cannot  help  thinking,  that  the  disproportion  is  greater 
than  it  ought  to  be. 

In  order  to  bring  this  question  home  to  your  appre- 
hension, let  me  ask  you  to  suppose  that  some  years 
ago,  any  one  of  you  had  come  to  this  city  with  a  be- 
loved brother,  to  prepare  for  a  life  of  business.  Let 
me  suppose  that  you  had  been  placed  with  a  mer- 
chant, and  he  with  a  carman  ;  both,  lawful,  useful  and 
necessary  callings  in  society ;  somebody  must  dis- 
charge each  of  these  offices.  Now  you  know  that 
the  results  would  probably  be,  that  you  would  be  rich, 
or  at  least  possessed  of  an  easy  property,  and  that  he 
would  be  poor ;  or  at  any  rate,  that  you  would  have 
a  fair  chance  of  acquiring  a  fortune  from  your  indus- 
try, and  that  he  would  have  no  such  chance  from  his 
industry.  Now  let  me  further  suppose,  that  you  did  not 
treat  him  as  some  men  treat  their  poor  relations  ;  pass- 
ing them  by  and  striving  to  forget  them — almost  wish- 
ing they  did  not  exist ;  but  that  you  continued  on 
terms  of  kind  and  intimate  intercourse  with  him  5  that 
you  constantly  interchanged  visits  with  him,  and  could 
compare  the  splendor  of  vour  dwelling  with  the  pov* 

9* 


102  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION. 

erty  of  his  ;  I  ask  you  if  you  would  not  feel,  if  you 
could  help  feeling,  that  society  had  dealt  unjustly  with 
you  and  with  him  in  this  matter  ?  But  I  say  that 
every  man  is  your  brother ;  and  that  what  you  would 
thus  feel  for  your  brother,  you  are  bound  to  feel  for 
every  man ! 

I  know  that  it  is  said  in  regard  to  accumulation  in 
general,  that  capital  has  its  claims  ;  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  they  are  overrated,  in  comparison  with 
the  claims  of  human  nerves  and  sinews.  Suppose 
that  of  a  thousand  men  engaged  in  a  great  manufac- 
turing establishment,  ten  possess  the  capital  and  over- 
see the  establishment,  and  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety 
do  the  work.  Can  it  be  right,  that  the  ten  should 
grow  to  immense  wealth,  and  that  the  nine  hundred 
and  ninety  should  be  for  ever  poor  ?  I  admit,  that 
something  is  to  be  allowed  for  the  risk  taken  by  the 
capitalist.  I  have  heard  it  pleaded,  indeed,  that  he  is 
extremely  liable  to  fail,  and  often  does  so — -while  the 
poor,  heaven  help  them  !  never  fail.  But  it  seems  to 
me,  that  this  consideration  is  not  quite  fairly  pleaded. 
It  is  said,  that  there  is  a  risk.  But  does  not  the  capi- 
talist, to  a  certain  extent,  make  the  risk  1  Is  not  his 
risk,  often  in  proportion  to  the  urgency  with  which  he 
pushes  the  business  of  accumulation,  and  to  that  neg- 
lect and  infidelity  of  his  agents  and  workmen,  which 
must  spring  from  their  having  so  slight  a  common  in- 
terest with  him  in  his  undertakings  ?  The  risks  will 
be  smaller  when  the  pursuit  of  property  is  more  re- 
strained and  reasonable ;  and  when  the  rewards  of 
industiy  are  more  equal  and  just.  But  I  hear  it  said 
again,  that  "  the  poor  are  wasteful ;  and  that  to  in- 
crease their  wages,  is  only  to  increase  their  vices." 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF   ACCUMULATION.  103 

Let  me  tell  you,  that  poverty  is  the  parent  of  impro- 
vidence and  desperation.  Those  who  have  been 
brought  up  in  that  school  may  very  probably,  for  a 
while,  abuse  their  increased  means.  But  in  the  long 
run,  it  cannot  be  so.  Nay,  by  the  very  terms  of  your 
proposition,  the  abuse  will  cease  with  the  desperation 
of  poverty.  Give  the  poor  some  hope  ;  give  them 
some  means  ;  give  them  something  to  lean  upon ;  give 
them  some  interest  in  the  order  and  welfare  of  society ; 
and  they  will  become  less  wasteful,  less  reckless  and 
vicious. 

Indeed,  is  it  not  obvious,  can  any  one  with  his  eyes 
open  deny,  that  the  extremes  of  condition  in  the 
world,  the  extremes  of  wealth  and  poverty,  furnish  us 
with  the  extremes  of  vice  and  dissipation  ?  And  does 
not  this  fact  settle  and  prove,  beyond  all  question,  that 
it  is  desirable  that  accumulation  should  be  restrained 
within  some  bounds,  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  oth- 
er, that  indigence  should  be  lessened  ?  What  is  the 
state  of  the  operatives  in  the  manufacturing  districts 
of  England  ?  Only  worse,  than  that  of  the  idlers  in 
that  kingdom,  who  are  living  and  rioting  upon  over- 
grown fortunes.  Let  the  conditions  of  men  approach 
the  same  inequality  in  this  or  any  other  country,  and 
we  shall  witness  the  same  results.  The  tendency  of 
things  among  us,  I  rejoice  to  believe,  is  not  to  that  re- 
sult, but  it  is,  no  doubt,  the  constant  tendency  of  pri- 
vate ambition. 

I  am  sensible,  my  friends,  that  I  have  made  a  large 
demand  on  your  candor,  in  laying  this  question  before 
you.  It  is  paying  the  highest  compliment  I  could  pay 
to  your  fairness  of  mind.  I  only  ask  that  you  will 
treat  my  argument  with  equal  generosity. 


104  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION. 

But  I  proceed  to  another  point.  In  order  to  the 
rapid  accumulation  of  property,  in  all  ordinary  cases, 
a  great  expansion  of  credit  is  necessary.  A  man  can 
not  grow  suddenly  rich  by  the  labor  of  his  hands,  and 
he  must  therefore  use  the  property  or  the  promises  of 
others,  in  order  to  compass  this  end.  Now,  there  is  a 
question  which  I  have  never  seen  stated  in  the  books 
of  moral  philosophy,  which  I  have  not  heard  discussed 
in  the  pulpit,  and  yet  it  is  a  point  which  deserves  a 
place  in  the  code  of  commercial  morality ;  and  that  is, 
how  far  it  is  right  for  a  man  to  use  credit — that  is,  to 
extend  his  business,  beyond  his  actual  capital  ?  I  am 
sensible  that  it  is  extremely  difficult,  if  it  is  not  indeed 
impossible,  to  lay  down  any  exact  rule  on  this  subject ; 
and  yet  it  seems  to  me  none  the  less  worthy  of  con- 
sideration. Certainly,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  there 
is  a  point  somewhere,  beyond  which  it  is  not  prudent, 
and,  therefore,  not  right,  to  go.  Certainly,  it  can  not 
be  right,  as  it  appears  to  me,  for  a  man  to  use  all  the 
credit  he  can  get.  It  could  not  be  right,  for  instance, 
that  upon  a  capital  of  ten  thousand,  a  man  should  do 
a  business  of  ten  millions.  No  man  ought  to  trust  his 
powers  to  such  an  indefinable  extent.  No  man's  cred- 
itors, were  he  to  fail,  could  be  satisfied  with  his  having 
accepted  trusts  from  others  in  the  shape  of  credits, 
which  common  prudence  shall  pronounce  to  be  rash 
and  hazardous.  There  is  a  common  prudence,  if  there 
is  no  exact  rule  about  this  matter ;  and  the  borrower 
is  most  especially  bound  to  observe  it ;  and  certainly, 
every  honest  man,  being  a  borrower,  would  observe 
it,  if  he  did  but  sufficiently  think  of  it.  The  want  of 
this  thought  is  the  very  reason  why  I  bring  forward 
the  subject. 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION.  105 

With  regard  to  the  rule,  I  have  it  as  the  deliberate 
opinion  of  one  of  the  greatest  bankers  in  Europe,  that 
a  man  should  not  extend  his  business  to  more  than 
three  times  his  capital,  and  if  it  be  a  large  business,  to 
not  more  than  twice  his  capital.  I  do  not  say  that  this 
is  the  rule,  though  I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  the 
judgment  that  laid  it  down.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is 
the  rule,  because  I  am  advised  on  the  other  hand,  by 
very  competent  judges,  that  the  rule  must  vary  ex- 
ceedingly with  the  different  kinds  of  business  which  a 
man  may  pursue. 

I  do  not  undertake,  then,  to  lay  down  any  particular 
rule,  but  I  urge  the  claims  of  general  prudence.  I  wish 
to  call  attention  to  this  point.  I  am  persuaded  that 
it  is  for  want  of  reflection  and  not  from  want  of  prin- 
ciple, that  many  have  adventured  out  upon  an  ocean 
of  credit,  where  they  have  not  only  suffered  shipwreck 
themselves,  but  carried  down  many  a  goodly  vessel 
with  them.  It  is  said,  that  the  Government  have  spread 
temptation  before  the  people,  by  adopting  measures 
which  lead  to  extraordinary  issues  of  bank  paper.  It 
may  be  so ;  I  believe  that  it  is  so ;  though  this  can 
scarcely  be  supposed  by  the  most  jealous,  to  have 
been  a  matter  of  design.  But  grant  that  it  be  so ; 
what  I  maintain  is,  that  the  people  ought  not  to  have 
yielded  to  the  temptation,  to  the  extent  that  many  have 
done.  The  borrower,  I  hold,  is  specially  and  solemnly 
bound  to  be  prudent.  He  is  bound  to  be  more  pru- 
dent in  the  use  of  other  men's  property,  than  of  his 
own.  A  man  should  be  more  cautious  in  taking  cre- 
dit, than  in  using  capital.  But  I  fear  that  the  very  re- 
verse of  this  is  commonly  the  fact.  I  fear  that  most 
men  are  more  reckless  when  they  use  the  means  which 


106  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION. 

credit  gives  them,  than  they  would  be  in  using  their 
own  absolute  and  fixed  property.  In  small  matters, 
we  know  that  immediate  payment  is  a  check  to  ex- 
penditure. Why  is  it,  but  for  this,  that  every  petty 
dealer  is  anxious  to  open  a  credit  with  your  family  ? 
He  knows  that  your  expenditures  will  be  freer,  your 
purchases  larger,  and  that  a  more  considerable 
amount  will  be  made  up  at  the  end  of  the  year,  be- 
cause you  buy  on  credit.  But  to  look  at  the  subject 
in  a  wider  view ;  I  know  that  some  men  do  plunge 
more  recklessly  into  the  great  game  of  business,  be- 
cause the  game  is  played  with  credit ;  with  counters, 
and  not  with  coins.  I  have  heard  it  observed,  and  1 
confess,  that  it  was  with  a  coolness  and  nonchalance 
that  amazed  me,  that  a  man  may  as  well  take  a  good 
strong  hold  of  business  while  he  is  about  it,  since  he 
has  nothing  to  lose  by  it.  The  sentiment  is  monstrous. 
It  ought  to  shake  the  very  foundations  of  every  ware- 
house where  it  is  uttered.  There  ought  to  be  a  sacred 
caution  in  the  use  of  credit.  And  although  I  cannot 
pretend  to  define  the  precise  law  of  its  extension, 
yet  this  I  will  say,  that  never  till  I  see  a  man  adven- 
turing his  own  property  more  freely  than  he  adven- 
tures that  which  he  borrows  of  his  neighbor,  can  I 
think  he  is  right.  Let  this  great,  and  undeniably  just 
moral  principle  be  established  ;  and  I  am  persuaded 
that  we  shall  at  once  see  a  wholesome  restraint  laid 
upon  the  use  of  credit. 

There  is  one  further  point  to  which  I  wish  to  invite 
your  attention ;  and  that  is  the  practice,  in  cases  of 
bankruptcy,  of  giving  preference  to  certain  creditors, 
who  have  made  loans  on  that  condition.  Now,  I 
maintain,  that  no  man  ought  to  offer  credit,  and  that 


■ 

THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION.  107 

no  man  ought  to  accept  it,  on  that  \oriditjbn.     Tlfe 
practice  is  abolished  in  England,  and  I  know  that 
there  it  is  regarded  as  bringing  a  stain  upon  the  coh>/ 
mercial  morality  of  this  country.  \\' 

I  do  not  mean  to  charge  with  personal  dereliction 
any  person  who  has,  in  times  past,  taken  advantage  of 
this  rule.  It  has  been  the  rule  of  the  country,  and  has 
passed  unquestioned.  And  so  long  as  it  has  been  the 
rule,  and  money  has  been  borrowed  and  lent  on  that 
principle,  and  it  was  considered  right  so  to  do,  it  was 
perhaps  right,  as  between  man  and  man,  that  cases  of 
insolvency  should  be  settled  on  that  principle.  But  as 
a  theoretical  principle  of  general  application,  I  hold, 
that  it  is  utterly  wrong.  Our  laws  indeed  disallow  it, 
and  public  opinion  ought  not,  for  another  hour,  to  sus- 
tain it. 

The  principle  is  dishonest.  It  is  treachery  to  the 
body  of  a  man's  creditors.  He  appeared  before  them 
with  a  certain  amount  of  means ;  and  upon  the 
strength  of  those  means,  they  were  willing  to  give  him 
credit.  Those  means  were  the  implied  condition,  the 
very  basis  of  the  loan  ;  without  them  they  would  not 
have  made  it.  They  saw  that  he  had  a  large  stock  of 
goods  ;  that  he  wras  doing  a  large  business,  and  they 
thought  there  was  no  danger.  They  depended, 
in  fact,  upon  that  visible  property,  in  case  of  difficul- 
ties. But  difficulty  arises,  failure  comes  ;  and  then 
they  find  that  much  or  all  of  that  property  is  preoccu- 
pied and  wrested  from  their  hands,  by  certain  confi- 
dential pledges.  If  they  had  known  this,  they  would 
have  stood  aloof,  and  therefore,  I  say,  that  there  is 
essential  deception  in  the  case. 

Again,  lending  on  such  a  principle  loses  all  its  gene- 


108  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OP   ACCUMULATION. 

rosity,  and  borrowing  is  liable  to  lose  all  the  prudence 
and  virtue  that  properly  belong  to  it.  If  a  man  lends 
to  his  young  friend  or  relative,  on  the  sole  strength  of 
affection  and  confidence  towards  him,  it  is  a  trans- 
action which  bestows  a  grace  upon  mercantile  life. 
But  if  he  lends  as  a  preference  creditor,  he  takes  no 
risk,  and  shows  no  confidence.  For  he  knows,  that  the 
borrower  upon  the  strength  of  his  loan,  can  easily  get 
property  enough  into  his  hands,  to  make  him  perfectly 
secure.  And  let  it  be  observed,  that  in  proportion  as 
the  acquisition  of  confidence  is  less  necessary  ;  in  pro- 
portion, that  is  to  say,  as  virtue  and  ability  are  less 
necessary  to  set  up  a  man  in  business,  are  they  less 
likely  to  be  cultivated :  and  so  far  as  this  principle 
goes,  therefore,  it  tends  to  sap  and  undermine  the 
whole  business  character  of  a  country.  Nay,  it  is 
easy  to  see,  that  under  the  cloak  of  these  confidential 
transactions,  the  entire  business  between  the  borrower 
and  lender  may  be  the  grossest  and  most  iniquitous 
gambling.  Of  course,  I  do  not  say  that  this  is  common. 
But  I  say  that  the  principle  ought  not  to  be  tolerated, 
which  is  capable  of  such  abuses. 

This  principle,  I  think,  moreover,  is  the  very  key- 
stone of  the  arch,  that  supports  many  an  overgrown 
fabric  of  credit.  And  this  observation  has  a  two-fold 
bearing.  Much  of  the  credit  that  is  obtained,  could 
not  exist  without  this  principle.  That  is  one  thing ; 
but  furthermore,  I  hold,  that  all  the  extension  of 
credit  which  depends  on  this  principle,  ought  not  to 
exist  at  all.  It  ought  not,  because  the  principle  is  dis- 
honest and  treacherous.  And  it  would  not,  because 
the  first  credit  which  often  puts  a  man  in  the  possession 
of  visible  means,  is  not  given  on  the  strength  of  con- 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OP    ACCUMULATION.  109 

fidence  in  him,  but  on  the  strength  of  the  secret 
pledge;  and  then  the  after  credits  are  based  on  those 
visible  means.  Let  every  man  that  borrows  tell,  as 
he  ought  to  do,  the  amount  of  his  confidential  obliga- 
tions, and  many  would  find  their  credit  seriously  cur- 
tailed. And  to  that  extent,  most  assuredly,  it  ought  to 
be  curtailed. 

I  have  thus  spoken  of  the  spirit  of  gain  as  liable — 
not  as  always  being,  but  as  liable  to  be,  in  conflict 
with  the  great  principles  of  social  and  commercial 
justice.  I  might  add,  that  the  manner  in  which  the 
gains  of  business  are  sometimes  clung  to,  amidst  the 
wreck  of  fortunes,  is  a  powerful  and  striking  illus- 
tration of  the  same  moral  danger.  He  who  regards 
no  limits  of  justice  in  acquiring  property,  will  break 
all  bonds  of  justice  to  keep  it. 

And  here  I  must  carefully  and  widely  distinguish. 
I  give  all  honor  to  the  spirit  which  many  among  us 
have  shown  in  such  circumstances ;  to  the  manly  for- 
titude and  disinterestedness  of  men,  who  have  com- 
paratively cared  nothing  for  themselves,  but  who  have 
been  almost  crushed  to  the  earth  by  what  they  have 
suffered  for  their  friends ;  to  the  heroic  cheerfulness 
and  soothing  tenderness  of  woman  in  such  an  hour, 
ready  to  part  with  every  luxury,  and  holding  the  very 
pearl  of  her  life,  in  the  unsullied  integrity  of  her  hus- 
band. I  know  full  well,  that  that  lofty  integrity  is  the 
only  rule  ever  thought  of  by  many,  in  the  painful  adjust- 
ment of  their  broken  fortunes.  And  I  know  and  the 
public  knows,  that  if  they  retain  a  portion  of  their 
splendor  for  a  season,  it  is  reluctantly,  and  because  it 
cannot,  in  the  present  circumstances,  be  profitably  dis- 
posed of — and  in  strict  trust  for  their  creditors.  But, 
10 


HO  THE    MORAL   LIMITS    OP   ACCUMULATION, 

there  are  bankrupts  of  a  different  character,  as  you 
well  know.  I  do  not  know  that  any  such  are  in  this 
presence ;  but  if  there  were  a  congregation  of  such 
before  me,  I  should  speak  no  otherwise  than  I  shall 
now  speak.  I  say,  that  there  are  men  of  a  different 
character ;  men  who  intend  permanently  to  keep  back 
a  part  of  the  price  which  they  have  sworn  to  pay ; 
and  I  tell  you,  that  God's  altar,  at  which  I  minister, 
shall  hear  no  word  from  me,  concerning  them,  but  a 
word  of  denunciation.  It  is  dishonesty,  and  it  ought 
to  be  infamy.  It  is  robbery,  though  it  live  in  splendor 
and  ride  in  state  ;  robbery,  I  say,  as  truly  as  if,  instead 
of  inhabiting  a  palace,  it  were  consigned  to  the  dun- 
geons of  Sing-Sing.  And  take  care,  my  brethren,  as 
ye  shall  stand  at  the  judgment-bar  of  conscience  and 
of  God,  that  ye  fall  not  at  all  beneath  this  temptation. 
The  times  are  times  of  sore  and  dreadful  peril  to  the 
virtue  of  the  country.  They  are  times  in  which  it  is 
necessary,  even  for  honest  men,  to  gird  up  the  loins 
of  their  minds,  and  to  be  sober  and  watchful;  ay, 
watchful  over  themselves.  Remember,  all  such,  I  ad- 
jure you,  that  the  dearest  fortune  you  can  carry  into 
the  world,  will  not  compensate  you  for  the  least  iota 
of  your  integrity  surrendered  and  given  up.  Oh  ! 
sweeter  in  the  lowliest  dwelling  to  which  you  may  de- 
scend, shall  be  the  thought  that  you  have  kept  your 
integrity  immaculate,  than  all  the  concentrated  essence 
of  luxury  to  your  taste,  all  its  combined  softness  to 
your  couch,  all  its  gathered  splendor  to  your  state. 
Ay,  prouder  shall  you  be  in  the  humblest  seat,  than  if, 
with  ill-kept  gains,  you  sat  upon  the  throne  of  a  kingdom. 
I  come  now  to  consider,  in  the  last  place,  the  limi- 
tations to  be  set  to  the  desire  of  wealth,  by  a  sober 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION.  11  j. 

consideration  of  its  too  probable  effects  upon  ourselves, 
upon  our  children,  and  upon  the  world  at  large.  And 
here,  let  ,me  ask  two  preliminary  questions. 

Can  that  be  so  necessary  to  human  well-being,  as 
many  consider  wealth  to  be,  which  necessarily  falls  to 
the  lot  but  of  a  few  ?  Can  that  be  the  very  feast  and 
wine  of  life,  when  but  a  few  thousands  of  the  human 
race,  are  allowed  to  partake  of  it  ?  If  it  were  so. 
surely  God's  providence  were  less  kind  and  liberal, 
than  we  are  bound  to  think  it.  God  has  not  made  a 
world  of  rich  men,  but  rather  a  world  of  poor  men ; 
or  of  men,  at  least,  who  must  toil  for  a  subsistence. 
That  then  must  be  the  good  condition  for  man  ;  nay. 
the  best  condition  ;  and  we  see,  indeed,  that  it  is  the 
grand  sphere  of  human  improvement. 

In  the  next  place,  can  that  be  so  important  to  human 
welfare,  which,  if  it  were  possessed  by  all,  would  be 
the  most  fatal  injury  possible  ?  And  here  I  must  desire, 
that  every  person  whose  pursuit  of  property,  this 
question  may  effect,  will  extend  his  thoughts  beyond 
himself.  He  may  say  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if 
he  could  acquire  wealth,  and  perhaps  it  would.  He 
may  say  that  he  does  not  see  that  riches  would  do 
him  any  harm,  and,  perhaps,  they  would  not.  He 
may  have  views  that  ennoble  the  pursuit  of  for- 
tune. But  the  question  is;  would  it  be  well  and 
safe,  for  four-fifths  of  the  business  community  around 
him  to  become  opulent  ?  He  must  remember  that  his 
neighbors  have  sought  as  well  as  he,  and  in  a  propor- 
tion, too,  not  far  distant  from  what  I  have  stated. 
They  have  sought,  and  had  as  good  a  right  to  succeed, 
as  he  had.  Would  it  be  well  that  so  general  an  ex- 
pectation of  fortune,  should  be  gratified  ?     Would  it 


112  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION.. 

be  well  for  society ;  well  for  the  world  ?  Only  carry 
the  supposition  a  little  farther ;  only  suppose  the  whole 
world  to  acquire  wealth ;  only  suppose  it  were  possi- 
ble that  the  present  generation  could  lay  up  a  com- 
plete provision  for  the  next,  as  some  men  desire  to  do 
for  their  children ;  and  you  destroy  the  world  at  a 
single  blow.  All  industry  would  cease  with  the  neces- 
sity for  it ;  all  improvement  would  stop  with  the  de- 
mand for  exertion ;  the  dissipation  of  fortunes,  whose 
mischiefs  are  now  countervailed  by  the  healthful  tone 
of  society,  would  then  breed  universal  disease,  and 
break  out  into  universal  license  ;  and  the  world  would 
sink  into  the  grave  of  its  own  loathsome  vices. 

But  let  us  look  more  closely,  for  a  moment,  at 
the  general  effect  of  wealth  upon  individuals  and  up- 
on nations. 

I  am  obliged,  then,  to  regard  with  considerable  dis- 
trust, the  influence  of  wealth  upon  individuals.  I  know 
that  it  is  a  mere  instrument,  which  may  be  converted 
to  good  or  to  bad  ends.  I  know  that  it  is  often  used 
for  good  ends.  But  I  more  than  doubt  whether  the 
chances  lean  that  way.  Independence  and  luxury 
are  not  likely  to  be  good  for  any  man.  Leisure  and 
luxury  are  almost  always  bad  for  every  man.  I  know 
that  there  are  noble  exceptions.  But  I  have  seen  so 
much  of  the  evil  effect  of  wealth  upon  the  mind — 
making  it  proud,  haughty  and  impatient,  robbing  it  of 
its  simplicity,  modesty  and  humility,  bereaving  it  of  its 
large  and  gentle  and  considerate  humanity;  and  I 
have  heard  such  testimonies,  such  astonishing  testimo- 
nies to  the  same  effect,  from  those  whose  professional 
business  it  is  to  settle  and  adjust  the  affairs  of  large 
estates,  that  I  more  and  more  distrust  its  boasted  ad- 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION.  113 

vantages.  I  deny  the  validity  of  that  boast.  In  truth, 
I  am  sick  of  the  world's  admiration  of  wealth.  Al- 
most all  the  noblest  things  that  have  been  achiev- 
ed in  the  world,  have  been  achieved  by  poor  men ; 
poor  scholars  and  professional  men ;  poor  artisans 
and  artists ;  poor  philosophers,  and  poets,  and  men  of 
genius. 

It  does  appear  to  me,  that  there  is  a  certain  staidness 
and  sobriety,  a  certain  moderation  and  restraint,  a  cer- 
tain pressure  of  circumstances,  that  is  good  for  man. 
His  body  was  not  made  for  luxuries ;  it  sickens,  sinks 
and  dies  under  them.  His  mind  was  not  made  for 
indulgence.  It  grows  weak,  effeminate  and  dwarfish, 
under  that  condition.  It  is  good  for  us  to  bear  the 
yoke  ;  and  it  is  especially  good  to  bear  the  yoke  in  our 
youth.  I  am  persuaded  that  many  children  are  injured 
by  too  much  attention,  too  much  care ;  by  too  many 
servants  at  home ;  too  many  lessons  at  school  ;  too 
many  indulgences  in  society.  They  are  not  left  suffi- 
ciently to  exert  their  own  powers,  to  invent  their  own 
amusements,  to  make  their  own  way.  They  are  often 
inefficient  and  unhappy,  they  lack  ingenuity  and  ener- 
gy, because  they  are  taken  out  of  the  school  of  prov- 
idence ;  and  placed  in  one  which  our  own  foolish  fond- 
ness and  pride  have  built  for  them.  Wealth,  without 
a  law  of  entail  to  help  it,  has  always  lacked  the  energy 
even  to  keep  its  own  treasures.  They  drop  from  its 
imbecile  hand.  What  an  extraordinary  revolution  in 
domestic  life  is  that,  which,  in  this  respect,  is  presented 
to  us  all  over  the  world  !  A  man,  trained  in  the  school 
of  industry  and  frugality,  acquires  a  large  estate.  His 
children  possibly  keep  it.  But  the  third  generation 
almost  inevitably  goes  down  the  rolling  wheel  of  for- 
10* 


114  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION. 

tune,  and  there  learns  the  energy  necessary  to  rise 
again.  And  yet  we  are,  almost  all  of  us,  anxious  to 
put  our  children,  or  to  ensure  that  our  grand-children 
shall  be  put,  on  this  road  to  indulgence,  luxury,  vice, 
degradation  and  ruin ! 

This  excessive  desire  and  admiration  for  wealth,  is 
one  of  the  worst  traits  in  our  modern  civilization.  We 
are,  if  I  may  say  so,  in  an  unfortunate  dilemma  in  this 
matter.  Our  political  civilization  has  opened  the  way 
for  multitudes  to  wealth,  and  created  an  insatiable  de- 
sire for  it ;  but  our  mental  civilization  has  not  gone  far 
enough,  to  make  a  right  use  of  it.  If  wealth  were  em- 
ployed in  promoting  mental  culture  at  home,  and  works 
of  philanthropy  abroad  ;  if  it  were  multiplying  studios 
of  art,  and  building  up  institutions  of  learning  around 
us  ;  if  it  were  every  way  raising  the  intellectual  and 
moral  character  of  the  world,  there  could  scarcely  be 
too  much  of  it.  But  if  the  utmost  aim,  effort  and  am- 
bition of  wealth,  be  to  procure  rich  furniture,  and  pro- 
vide costly  entertainments,I  am  inclined  to  say,  that 
there  could  scarcely  be  too  little  of  it.  "  It  employs 
the  poor,"  do  I  hear  it  said  ?  Better  that  it  were  divi- 
ded with  the  poor.  Willing  enough  am  I,  that  it  should 
be  in  few  hands,  if  they  will  use  it  nobly — with  tem- 
perate self-restraint  and  wise  philanthropy.  But  on 
no  other  condition,  will  I  admit  that  it  is  a  good,  either 
for  its  possessors  or  for  any  body  else.  I  do  not  deny 
that  it  may  lawfully  be,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  minis- 
ter of  elegancies  and  luxuries,  and  the  handmaid  of 
hospitality  and  physical  enjoyment ;  but  this  I  say, 
that  just  in  such  proportion  as  its  tendencies,  divested 
of  all  higher  aims  and  tastes,  are  running  that  way, 
are  they  running  to  evil  and  to  peril. 


THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION.  115 

That  peril,  moreover,  does  not  attach  to  individuals 
and  families  alone  ;  but  it  stands, a  fearful  beacon,  in 
the  experience  of  cities  and  empires.  The  lessons  of 
past  times,  on  this  subject,  are  emphatic  and  solemn. 
I  undertake  to  say  that  the  history  of  wealth,  has  al- 
ways been  a  history  of  corruption  and  downfall.  The 
people  never  existed  that  could  stand  the  trial. 

Boundless  profusion — alas  !  for  humanity — is  too 
little  likely  to  spread  for  any  people,  the  theatre  of 
manly  energy,  rigid  self-denial,  and  lofty  virtue. 
Where  is  the  bone  and  sinew  and  strength  of  a  coun- 
try ?  Where  do  you  expect  to  find  its  loftiest  talents 
and  virtues  ?  Where  its  martyrs  to  patriotism  or  re- 
ligion ?  Where  are  the  men  to  meet  the  days  of  peril 
and  disaster?  Do  you  look  for  them  among  the  chil- 
dren of  ease  and  indulgence  and  luxury  ? 

All  history  answers.  In  the  great  march  of  the  ra- 
ces of  men  over  the  earth,  we  have  always  seen  opu- 
lence and  luxury  sinking  before  poverty  and  toil  and 
hardy  nurture.  It  is  the  very  law  that  has  presided 
over  the  great  processions  of  empire.  Sidon  and  Tyre, 
whose  merchants  possessed  the  wealth  of  princes ;  Bab- 
ylon and  Palmyra,  the  seats  of  Asiatic  luxury ;  Rome, 
laden  with  the  spoils  of  a  world,  overwhelmed  by  her 
own  vices  more  than  by  the  hosts  of  her  enemies — 
all  these,  and  many  more,  are  examples  of  the  de- 
structive tendencies  of  immense  and  unnatural  accu- 
mulation. No  lesson  in  history  is  so  clear,  so  impres- 
sive, as  this. 

I  trust,  indeed,  that  our  modern,  our  Christian  cities 
and  kingdoms  are  to  be  saved  from  such  disastrous  is- 
sues. I  trust  that,  by  the  appropriation  of  wealth, 
less  to  purposes  of  private  gratification,  and  more  to 


116  THE    MORAL    LIMITS    OF    ACCUMULATION. 

purposes  of  Christian  philanthropy  and  public  spirit, 
we  are  to  be  saved,  But  this  is  the  very  point  on 
which  I  insist.  Men  must  become  more  generous  and 
benevolent,  not  more  selfish  and  effeminate,  as  they 
become  more  rich,  or  the  history  of  modern  wealth 
will  follow  in  the  sad  train  of  all  past  examples ;  and 
the  story«of  American  prosperity  and  of  English  opu- 
lence, will  be  told  as  a  moral,  in  empires  beyond  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  or  in  the  newly-discovered  conti- 
nents of  the  Asiatic  Seas ! 


in 


DISCOURSE  V. 

ON    THE    NATURAL  AND    ARTIFICIAL    RELATIONS   OF 
SOCIETY. 


LUKE  X,  29.     And  who  is  my  neighbor? 

What  is  society  ?  And  what  are  the  ties  that  give 
to  society  its  strength,  dignity  and  beauty  ? 

Let  us  make  the  attempt,  though  it  will  be  dif- 
ficult, to  lay  aside  all  conventional  ideas  of  this  sub- 
ject ;  and  endeavor  to  contemplate  it  in  the  spirit  of 
generous  philosophy,  and  more  beneficent  Christianity. 
What  is  society,  not  as  man  has  made  it,  but  in  its 
original  elements  and  just  relations? — what  is  it,  in  the 
constitution  of  God  ?  What  did  he  design  that  man 
should  be  to  man,  and  what  the  bond  between  them? 

The  answer  is  given  in  words  of  authority.  "  Thou 
shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself."  It  is  the  bond  of 
kind  neighborhood,  of  gentle  affinity,  of  gracious  sym- 
pathy. And  "  who  is  my  neighbor  ?"  Again,  the  sa- 
cred text  answers.  It  is  the  Samaritan,  the  sinner, 
the  sufferer.  It  is  he  who  is  cast  down  and  trodden 
under  foot.  It  is  he  who  lies  by  the  way-side,  ne- 
glected and  despised.  Every  man  is  your  neighbor. 
No  matter  what  is  his  condition,  his  clime,  his  nation. 
No  matter  from  what  country,  trodden  down  with  op- 


118  ON    SOCIETY. 

pression,  he  hath  come.  No  matter  in  what  prison- 
house  he  hath  toiled  ;  or  in  what  mournful  garb,  pover- 
ty or  neglect  hath  clothed  him.  If  he  can  say,  "  I  am 
a  man,"  he  puts  forward  a  sacred  and  venerable  claim. 
If  he  who  could  say,  "lama  Roman  citizen,"  could 
rouse  in  his  behalf  the  sympathies  of  a  whole  mighty 
people  ;  he  who  can  say,  "lama  man,"  should  touch 
the  heart  of  all  mankind. 

It  is  the  claim  of  a  common  nature  which  God  has 
laid  upon  us.  As  strong  as  the  bond  of  humanity  it- 
self, he  has  made  the  common  tie.  Nay,  more ;  and 
dear  as  are  the  interests  which  he  has  committed  to  the 
sacred  depository  of  each  human  bosom,  and  power- 
ful as  are  the  influences  which  one  human  being  can 
exert  upon  another,  has  he  made  the  obligation  of  love, 
pity  and  humanity  to  the  common  welfare.  Human- 
ity! the  universal  counterpart  of  each  man's  self!  the 
multiplication  of  one's  self  into  millions  of  suffering  or 
happy  beings  ! — well  might  the  Latin  poet  say,  "  I  am 
a  man,  and  nothing  is  foreign,  nothing  far  from  me,  that 
is  human."  And  when  a  crowded  Roman  theatre 
once  rose  up  in  admiration  of  that  noble  sentiment,  it 
was  a  homage  as  fit  as  it  was  beautiful.  And  fitly, 
from  that  day  to  this,  has  been  borne,  in  the  literature 
and  on  the  bosom  of  nations,  the  record  of  that  touch- 
ing and  noble  saying. 

But  when  I  look  more  deeply  into  that  humanity, 
and  consider  what  it  is,  I  feel  that  such  a  sentiment 
rises  above  generosity,  and  takes  the  character  of  sanc- 
tity and  even  of  sublimity.  I  see  a  circle  drawn  around 
each  human  being,  which  it  is  not  only  sin,  but  sacri- 
lege, to  invade.  For  what  is  within  that  sacred  pale 
that  girds  about  every  human  heart  ?     Joy,  sorrow ; 


ON    SOCIETY.  119 

fear,  hope  ;  need ;  the  need  of  happiness,  and — more 
saered  and  awful  still — the  need  of  virtue  !  There, 
God  hath  made  a  being,  whom  nothing  but  virtue  can 
suffice ;  whom  nothing  but  infinity  and  eternity  will 
content.  I  speak  not  the  language  of  theology,  but  of 
fact.  So  God  hath  made  us.  That  mighty  burthen 
of  a  spiritual  and  divine  need  rests  upon  every  human 
heart ;  and  nothing  but  the  Almighty  po^wer  that  placed 
it  there,  can  ever  relieve  it.  It  is  your  soul,  my  friend, 
that  bears  this  dread  charge  ;  but  it  is  the  soul  of  him, 
whosoever  he  be,  that  standeth  next  you  in  the  world- 
ly crowd  ;  it  is  every  soul  in  this  assembly ;  it  is  every 
man  in  the  world.  Human  society  is  the  society  of 
beings  so  charged  and  entrusted.  And  if  a  congress 
of  kings  and  potentates  shall  be  thought  an  imposing 
spectacle,  and  to  demand  the  most  heedful  considera- 
tion and  treatment  from  one  to  the  other,  what  shall 
be  the  higher  law  for  beings  who  act  for  virtue,  for 
heaven  and  for  eternity  ! 

Were  it  only  happiness  that  is  concerned,  yet  in  the 
mysterious  and  inexplicable  feeling  of  individuality 
which  we  all  possess,  the  veriest  outcast  by  the  way- 
side, has  as  much  at  stake,  as  the  monarch  on  his 
guarded  throne.  Poor  men  and  rich  men  have,  indeed, 
their  distinct  resorts  and  reliances  ;  but  there  are  no 
such  things  as  a  rich  man's  joy,  and  a  poor  man's  joy. 
Happiness  hath  no  respect  of  persons.  It  is  as  dear 
to  one  man  as  to  another  ;  and  the  feeling  that  makes 
it  so,  is  not  of  man's,  but  of  God's  creating.  And  the 
sharp  visitation  of  pain,  whether  it  finds  its  way  through 
the  beggar's  rags  or  the  prince's  cloth  of  gold,  is  alike 
sore  and  bitter  to  abide.  Suffering  is  not  an  accident 
of  our  condition,  but  an  ingredient  of  our  being.    Dis- 


120  ON    SOCIETY. 

ease,  whether  it  knocks  at  the  cottage-wicket  or  the 
castle-gate,  sends  its  thrilling  summons,  in  equal  disre- 
gard of  haughty  grandeur  and  shrinking  penury.  The 
inmates  of  the  one,  when  revolving,  beneath  their  hum- 
ble roof,  the  fortunes  of  their  lives,  feel  that  they  have, 
in  their  happiness,  as  much  at  stake,  as  the  lofty  pos- 
sessors of  the  other;  and  in  that  essential  respect, 
they  have  as  much  at  stake. 

To  what  conclusion,  then,  do  we  arrive  ?  Is  it  a 
strange  or  an  unexpected  conclusion  ? — for  this  it  is — 
that  without  any  respect  to  external  condition,  one 
man  has  just  as  much  right  to  have  his  virtue  and  hap- 
piness regarded,  as  another  man  !  Is  there  a  man  here, 
who  can  look  upon  joy  or  sorrow  with  indifference, 
because  they  are  found  in  a  meaner  garb  than  his  own  ? 
I  will  not  compromise,  for  one  moment,  the  principle 
I  maintain.  I  abhor  that  man,  and  I  will  say  it.  I 
abhor  him,  as  worse  than  a  traitor  to  his  country,  as 
a  traitor  to  humanity.  And  I  appeal,  for  my  justifi- 
cation, to  the  most  ordinary  sentiments  of  every  gen- 
erous mind.  Would  you  make  that  man  your  friend, 
who  could  take  pleasure  in  wantonly  crushing  an  in- 
sect ?  What  will  you  think,  then,  of  the  man,  who 
could  coldly  disregard,  or  carelessly  wound,  the  feel- 
ings of  a  fellow-creature  ? 

I  have  not  wished  to  linger  upon  these  preliminary 
steps;  and,  therefore,  I  hasten  to  observe  that  we 
have  thus  come,  by  a  direct  path,  to  the  consideration 
of  social  relationships.  They  are  of  two  kinds,  natu- 
ral and  artificial ;  and  my  purpose  is,  of  course,  not 
to  go  over  the  whole  ground — which  would  require 
volumes  for  the  survey  of  it — but  only  to  touch  upon 
such  points  as  are  particularly  pressed  upon  our  no- 


ON    SOCIETY.  121 

vice,  by  the  present  condition  of  society.  The  natural 
relations  of  society  are  such  as  spring  from  necessity, 
and  may  be  considered  as  ordained  by  our  Creator ; 
the  artificial  are  those  which  are  devised  and  regulated 
by  man. 

Of  those  which  are  natural,  or  necessary  to  society 
itself — though  there  are  many,  such  as  those  of  husband 
and  wife,  parent  and  child,  guardian  and  ward,  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  I  shall  consider  only  the  single  but 
comprehensive  relation  of  employers  and  employed  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  that  of  master  and  apprentice, 
householder  and  domestic,  rich  and  poor.  These  are 
certainly  among  the  inevitable  relations  of  human  be- 
ings ;  and  no  progress  of  the  wrorld,  in  civilization  or 
Christianity,  may  ever  be  expected  to  abolish  them. 

Our  business  with  them,  then,  is  not  to  extirpate  but 
to  improve  them ;  and  the  questions  that  arise  on  this 
point,  are  of  some  delicacy,  and  need  to  be  touched 
with  a  careful  hand.  I  frankly  confess  myself  to  be 
among  the  number  of  tliose,  who  think  that  the  feudal 
distinctions  of  former  days,  the  old  relations  of  master 
and  servant,  have  transmitted  to  us  some  errors,  which 
need  to  be  done  away  ;  and  which,  in  this  country, 
must  be  done  away.  But,  on  the  contrary,  I  do  not 
hold  at  all,  with  those  visionary  persons,  who  expect 
that  all  distinctions  in  society  will  cease,  and  that  men 
will  stand  on  the  level  of  perfect  equality.  Nay  more, 
I  maintain,  that  both  necessity  and  propriety  demand 
that  the  manners  of  different  classes  of  society  to- 
wards each  other,  shall  differ.  The  manner  of  him 
who  directs,  must  differ  from  the  manner  of  hirn  who 
is  directed.  On  the  one  hand,  there  must  be  authori- 
ty, or  direction,  if  you  please  so  to  call  it ;  and,,  on  the 

11 


122  ON    SOCIETY. 

other,  acquiescence.  The  relation,  indeed,  is  volunta- 
ry ;  no  man  among  us  is  obliged  to  be  the  agent,  work- 
man, or  domestic  of  another.  But  if  he  is  such,  then 
the  relation  requires  that  he  should  yield  the  acquies- 
cence in  question.  And  to  that  acquiescence,  I  repeat, 
a  certain  manner  is  appropriate  :  not  slavish  or  obse- 
quious, but  cheerful  and  courteous.  And  I  especially 
insist,  that  neither  party  is  ever  to  forget  the  respect 
and  kindness  which  are  due  from  one  human  being  to 
another. 

But  this  great  bond  of  humanity  is,  doubtless,  often 
disregarded  by  both  parties.  Men  strive  and  wrangle 
with  each  other,  and  are  guilty  of  scorn  or  spite  in  their 
behavior,  forgetting  what  they  are — forgetting  that 
they  are  creatures  of  the  same  God,  children  of  one 
common  Father.  On  which  side  the  fault  chiefly  lies, 
at  the  present  era  of  American  society,  I  confess,  that 
I  am  in  doubt.  Up  to  this  time,  or  nearly  to  this  time, 
I  should  have  confidently  said,  that  it  was,  where  it 
always  has  been — with  the  class  of  employers.  Power 
is  ever  liable  to  beget  pride,  injustice,  and  a  haughty  de- 
meanor. But  in  a  community  where  the  class  of  the 
employed  has  become  so  independent,  as  it  is  in  ours ; 
where  the  sense  of  past  injuries  is  rankling  in  the 
mind  ;  where  many  false  maxims  tend  to  make  all  ap- 
parent inferiority  peculiarly  galling,  and  where  the  old 
conventional  manners,  once  considered  appropriate  to 
that  condition,  are  breaking  up,  the  consequence  is  but 
too  likely  to  be  in  many,  revolt,  recklessness,  discour- 
tesy and  despite. 

On  which  side  the  greatest  courtesy  and  kindness 
are  to  be  found,  I  will  not  decide  ;  nor  is  it  necessary 
in  order  to  urging  the  duties  that  belong  to  both. 


ON    SOCIETY.  123 

Let  me  offer  it  as  a  leading  observation,  that  these 
duties,  in  this  country,  have  assumed  a  new  character, 
and  a  new  importance.  The  relation  of  employers 
and  employed  among  us  is  new.  The  workman  here 
does  not  come  to  his  employer,  bowing  and  cringing 
for  service,  as  the  only  thing  that  can  keep  him  from 
starving.  He  stands  before  the  great  and  powerful 
contractor  or  merchant,  on  a  footing  of  compara- 
tive independence — of  such  independence,  at  least,  as 
was  never  before  known  in  any  country.  His  labor 
is  in  request ;  if  one  man  does  not  wrant  it,  another 
does.  He  is  not  obliged  to  sell  it  on  such  terms,  a.s 
often  grind  to  the  dust,  the  artisan  of  Birmingham  and 
Manchester,  or  the  lazzaroni  of  Naples,  or  the  palan- 
kin-bearer  of  Calcutta.  This  state  of  things,  indeed, 
suggests  some  admonitions  to  the  laboring  classes, 
which  I  shall  not  fail  to  address  to  them.  But  at  the 
same  time,  it  imposes  on  employers  some  things,  which 
I  shall  ask  them  to  do  more  than  submit  to,  as  a  matter 
of  necessity.  It  calls  them  to  consider  and  respect, 
more  than  employers  have  ever  before  done,  the  great 
claims  of  a  common  humanity. 

I  protest,  then,  against  all  overbearing  haughtiness, 
and  every  thing  that  indicates  a  want  of  respect  and 
kindness,  on  the  part  of  the  employer.  I  do  not  say 
how  common  this  treatment  of  the  poor  man  is.  I  do 
not  say,  that  there  are  ten  men  in  this  assembly  who 
are  guilty  of  it.  But  if  there  is  one,  then,  I  say,  that 
upon  that  case,  I  lay  the  heaviest  weight  of  moral  re- 
probation. I  plead  the  great  cause  of  humanity.  I 
tell  you  that  he  who  stands  before  you  with  a  coarse 
garb  and  sweaty  brow,  is  yet  a  man ;  and  that  he  is  to 
be  regarded  and  felt  for  as  a  man.     Must  I  resort  to 


124  ON    SOCIETY. 

the  very  alphabet  of  Christianity,  to  teach  you  what  is 
due  to  him  ?  Must  I  remind  you,  that  "  God  hath 
made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of  men  to  dwell  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  ?"  Must  I  tell  you,  that  "  God  hath 
made  the  poor  of  this  world  rich  in  faith,  and  heirs  of  a 
kingdom,"  amidst  whose  splendors  all  the  appendages 
of  your  condition  are  but  perishing  bawbles  ?  Must  I 
tell  you,  that  the  man,  whom  you  are  liable  in  your 
power  to  treat  with  injustice  or  indignity,  may  be  a 
nobler  man  than  you  ;  dearer  to  God,  and  more  wor- 
thy of  all  true  respect  than  you  are  ?  Must  I  say  in 
so  many  words,  that  he  has  feelings,  as  keen  and  sen- 
sitive, it  may  be,  as  your  own  ?  Must  I  say,  that  all 
the  touching  and  venerable  claims  of  humanity  are 
stamped  upon  him  as  well  as  upon  you — that  wife  and 
children  and  home,  happiness  and  hope  and  heaven, 
are  as  dear  to  him  as  to  you  1  What  right  have  you, 
and  where  did  you  find  it,  to  treat  him  any  otherwise 
than  as  a  brother  man  I  You  are,  indeed,  to  give  di- 
rections, and  he  is  to  follow  them.  But  that  is  a  sim- 
ple compact  between  you,  and  does  not  compromise 
the  respectability  of  either.  And  beyond  that,  I  say, 
that  there  is  no  law  of  substantial  courtesy  and  kindness 
which  is  not  to  be  observed  between  you.  It  is  true, 
that  men  whose  hands  and  eyes  are  occupied  with 
strenuous  toil  or  business,  cannot  be  engaged  with 
making  bows  to  each  other ;  and  this  is  not  what  I  in- 
sist upon.  But  I  would  make  the  laborer  understand, 
that  I  respect  him  according  to  his  merits,  as  truly  as 
I  respect  the  gentleman ;  and  I  would  make  the  gen- 
tleman, who  had  no  merits,  understand,  that  I  respect 
the  honest  and  worthy  laborer  a  thousand  times  more. 
What !  shall  I  bring  down  the  principles  of  eternal 


ON    SOCIETY  125 

truth  and  justice,  so  low,  that  they  may  be  buried  in 
the  plaited  folds  of  a  rich  man's  garment  ?  Truth  and 
justice  forbid  !  Worth  is  worth  ;  and  no  garb,  before 
my  eyes,  shall  ever  clothe  meanness  witli  honor,  or 
sink  virtue  to  contempt. 

We  are  all  possessed,  it  is  probable,  with  conven- 
tional notions  on  this  subject,  which  expose  us  to  do 
considerable  injustice.  Man  looketh  on  the  outward 
appearance.  But,  I  hold,  that  he  who  does  not  strive 
in  favor  of  principle  and  humanity,  to  correct  the  mis- 
takes of  worldly  sense  and  fashion,  is  no  noble  or 
Christian  man.  And  I  say,  too,  that  he  who  would 
assume  all  the  airs  of  unfeeling  superiority,  which  the 
spirit  of  society  will  tolerate,  is  either  inexcusably 
thoughtless,  or  detestably  unprincipled,  and  is  just  fit  to 
be  an  oppressor  in  Russia,  a  tyrant  in  Constantinople, 
if  not  a  man-stealer  in  Africa.  And,  I  maintain,  more- 
over, that  Christianity  itself  has  made  but  little  pro- 
gress, where  this  care  and  consideration  for  our  kind 
are  not  cherished.  Vainly  will  you  try  to  reconcile 
any  man's  claims  to  Christian  virtue,  with  harshness 
and  insolence  to  his  dependants.  He  may  go  from 
the  very  worship  of  God  to  this  scorn  and  despite  of 
man — it  avails  not.  The  spirit  of  Christ  is  the  spirit 
of  philanthropy.  "  He  who  loveth  not  his  brother 
whom  he  hath  seen ;  how  doth  he  love  God  whom  he 
hath  not  seen  !" 

Nor  is  it  enough  to  refrain  from  oppression  and  in- 
solence. There  are  duties  belonging  to  the  relation  of 
the  employer.  He  is  bound  to  feel  an  interest  in  his 
dependants,  beyond  that  of  obtaining  their  services. 
This  interest  he  takes  in  his  horse  or  his  ox.  This  is 
not  enough,  to  be  felt  for  a  human  being.  The  man 
11* 


126  ON   SOCIETY. 

who  labors  in  your  garden,  or  in  your  warehouse,  or 
your  manufactory,  is  not  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  mere 
machine  that  is  accomplishing  so  much  work,  and  af- 
ter it  is  done,  to  be  dismissed  without  a  further  thought. 
You  ought  to  think  kindly  of  that  man,  and  to  consid- 
er how  you  can,  as  a  fellow-being,  act  towards  him  a 
brotherly  part.  You  may  find  ways  enough  of  doing 
this,  without  going  oat  of  your  sphere,  and  without 
being  officious,  or  ostentatious,  or  offensively  patron- 
ising in  your  kindness.  Your  very  manners,  inspiring 
in  those  who  labor  for  you,  good  will,  cheerfulness  and 
self-respect,  may  do  much.  Yes,  your  very  manners 
may  do  more  for  their  happiness  and  virtue,  than  if  you 
doubled  their  wages,  or  gave  them  the  most  liberal 
presents.  You  may  also  speak  kindly  to  them,  of  thoir 
welfare  and  of  their  families.  You  may  become  their 
adviser  and  friend.  You  may  induce  them  to  deposit 
a  portion  of  their  earnings  in  a  savings'  bank ;  and  that 
money,  so  laid  up  and  gradually  accumulating,  will  be 
one  of  the  best  securities  for  their  growing  virtue  and 
courage  and  self-respect.  You  may  sometimes  give 
them  an  interesting  book  to  read — at  least,  during  the 
leisure  of  Sunday,  if  they  have  no  other  time — and  it 
will  be  a  means  both  of  safety  and  improvement  on 
that  holy  day.  You  may  make  them  feel  that  they 
have,  in  you  and  in  your  family,  those  who  know  them 
and  take  a  friendly  interest  in  their  respectability  and 
good  conduct ;  and  they  might  be  made  to  know,  that 
if  you  should  some  day  go  home  to  your  splendid 
dwelling,  and  say,  that  such  or  such  an  one  had  been, 
that  day,  intoxicated,  or  a  brawler  in  the  streets,  it 
would  spread  a  sadness  over  the  face  of  that  bright 
and  happy  circle.     Your  children  might  sometimes  go 


ON    SOCIETY.  127 

t<>  their  children  in  sickness  or  in  trouble,  and  kindly 
take  them  by  the  hand.  No  fear,  that  the  hand,  nur- 
tured and  softened  in  the  bosom  gf  luxury,  would  be 
soiled  by  that  contact.  There  is  a  work  of  our  great- 
est sculptor,*  which  represents  a  child-angel  as  con- 
ducting another  child  to  heaven.  Were  it  not  a  beau- 
tiful vision,  realized  into  life  ?  Oh  !  when  I  think  what 
rich  families  might  do  for  poor  families,  what  min- 
istering angels  they  might  be,  to  raise  up  the  low  and 
the  fallen,  to  comfort,  to  virtue  and  to  heaven,  my  heart 
swells  at  the  contemplation  ;  and  I  say,  when,  sfiall  the 
vision  be  realized  into  life  ? 

Yet,  let  us  not  despair.  There  are  things  already 
done  in  our  noble  city,  which  forbid  despair.  I  say, 
our  noble  city ;  and  when  I  say  this,  I  am  not  thinking 
of  our  splendid  dwellings,  of  our  wealth  pouring  in 
through  a  thousand  channels,  of  our  commerce  spread- 
ing the  sounding  banners  of  its  prosperous  march  over 
every  sea,  nor  of  that  mighty  repairing  of  our  desola- 
tions, which  the  last  year  has  witnessed  ;  but  I  am 
thinking  of  the  works  of  mercy  that  are  done  in  this 
city.  It  is  a  fact,  and  I  must  state  it  with  some  for- 
mality, because  to  most  persons  it  will  be  new  and  as- 
tonishing, that  there  is  scarcely  a  poor  family  in  our 
city,  which  is  not  regularly  visited,  by  some  Sunday- 
school  teacher,  or  tract  distributor,  or  minister  at  large, 
with  a  view  to  its  moral  enlightening  and  renovation. 
God  bless  and  prosper  the  noble  band,  who  have  thus 
gone  forth  into  our  waste  places ! — they  are  young 
men,  many  of  them,  rising  into  life,  with  their  own 
cares  and  affairs  to  attend  to ;  they  are  young  women, 

*  Greenough. 


128  ON    SOCIETY. 

some  of  them  of  our  wealthiest  families,  and  others, 
who  depend  upon  the  labors  of  their  needle  for  their 
subsistence  ;  noble  missionaries  of  mercy !  fair  sisters 
of  charity ! — again,  I  bid  them  God  speed  !  I  bless 
them  for  my  own  sake,  and  for  your  sake — and  in  the 
name  of  Christ.  When  I  came  to  this  city,  a  little 
more  than  two  years  ago,  I  confess,  that  the  mighty 
mass  of  what  seemed  to  me  its  desperate  wickedness 
and  misery,  weighed  upon  my  mind  as  a  heavy  bur- 
then. It  was  a  professional  feeling,  if  you  please  so 
to  consider  it ;  my  office  called  me  to  look  upon  the 
moral  interests  of  men  ;  and  I  almost  shrunk  from  a 
residence  in  the  presence  of  evils  so  stupendous,  and, 
as  I  thought,  so  incapable  of  any  but  the  most  distant 
relief.  But  within  two  years,  I  have  learned  that  the 
dread  wastes  which  stretched  out  before  me,  in  dark- 
ness and  silence,  are  filled  with  benevolent  action  ; 
that  their  long-neglected  thresholds  are  tracked  thickly 
over  with  footsteps  of  mercy,  and  their  desolate  walls 
are  echoing  the  voices  of  Christian  truth  and  love. 
Let  the  good  work  be  deepened  in  any  proportion  to 
its  extent ;  and  this  city  will  present  the  long-desired 
example,  of  a  great  commercial  emporium,  purified  by 
the  beneficent  instrumentality  of  its  own  prosperous 
inhabitants. 

But  to  return ;  there  is  another  sphere  for  female 
talent  and  virtue  which  I  wish  to  point  out ;  and  that 
is  beneath  the  domestic  roof.  I  say  talent ;  for  to  re- 
gulate a  family  of  domestics  in  this  country,  is  really  an 
acheivement  of  intellect  as  well  as  of  virtue.  The  dif- 
ficulties springing  from  the  state  of  domestic  service 
among  us,  T  need  not  dwell  upon.  They  are  well 
known.     They  are,  in  fact,  the  great  palpable  diiiicul-. 


ON    SOCIETY.  I2& 

dcs  of  domestic  life  throughout  the  country.  The  real 
difficulties,  indeed,  are  not  those  which  are  palpable  ; 
they  lie  deeper  ;  they  lie  in  the  mind  ;  and  it  is  to  the 
removal  of  these,  that  I  would  solicit  your  attention. 
And  let  it  be  considered  that  the  difficulties  of  the  case, 
so  far  as  they  lie  in  the  situation  of  the  parties,  cannot 
be  removed  ;  and  that  if  any  relief  is  to  be  found,  it 
must  be  found  in  the  mind.  The  relation  of  house- 
holders and  domestics,  in  this  country,  is  new.  The 
latter  are  not  dependant  on  the  former,  as  they  are  in 
other  countries.  They  have  not  the  same  interest  to 
satisfy  you.  They  have  not  the  same  anxiety  to  keep 
their  place,  as  if  the  alternative  were  penury  or  star- 
vation :  and  I  trust  they  never  will  have.  Whether 
you  are  satisfied,  is  not  the  only  question.  If  they  are 
not  satisfied  too,  they  may  retire  from  your  service, 
and  readily  find  employment  elsewhere.  What  then, 
amidst  all  the  difficulties  of  this  situation  is  to  be  done  ? 
Perpetual  changes  in  a  domestic  establishment ;  no 
security  against  its  being  half  broken  up  almost  any 
day  ;  no  necessity,  on  the  part  of  those  who  tempora- 
rily compose  it,  of  holding  their  place  longer  than  the 
caprice  or  the  whim  of  the  moment  may  dictate ;  no 
bond  of  necessity  for  their  good  behavior,  like  that 
which  presses  upon  every  other  occupation,  since  they 
do  not  look  upon  their  station  as  a  permanent  one,  nor 
feel  that  they  are  taking  a  character  to  live  and  die  by 
— they  are  looking  to  better  their  condition,  to  estab- 
lish themselves  in  life,  to  pursue  an  independent  course 
-—all  these  things,  I  say,  occasion  immense  inconveni- 
ence, and  the  severest  trials  of  temper.  What  then* 
is  to  give  us  relief?  I  say  plainly  and  firmly,  that  I 
do  not  regret  this  independence  of  the  class  of  domes- 


130  ON    SOCIETY. 

tics.  I  am  glad  that  they  can  look  to  separate  and  per- 
manent establishments.  It  is  a  fortunate  condition  for 
them.  But  even  if  it  were  not,  it  is  theirs  beyond  re- 
covery; and,  therefore,  the  only  relief  must  come 
through  a  consideration  towards  them,  hitherto  un- 
known in  the  world — a  consideration  respectful,  wise, 
Christian-like  and  kind.  And  here  is  the  field  for  fe- 
male talent  and  virtue,  to  which  I  have  already  re- 
ferred. She  who  has  the  immediate  charge  of  a  fam- 
ily, should  make  her  assistants  feel  from  the  first,  that 
she  does  not  wish  to  regard  them  as  hirelings,  but  as 
faithful  friends.  Jf,  hardened  by  custom,  or  puffed  up 
with  pride,  or  absorbed  in  fashion,  she  never  thinks  ot 
them  but  to  exact  from  them  their  tasks,  she  must  not 
wonder,  if  they  never  think  of  her  but  to  earn  the 
price  of  those  tasks.  Committed  to  her  care,  subjected 
in  a  measure  to  her  influence,  as  fellow-beings,  she  is 
bound  to  respect,  cherish  and  love  them.  She  ought 
to  study  their  character,  to  consider  their  situation, 
wants  and  feelings,  to  promote  the  improvement 
of  their  minds  and  hearts,  to  provide  for  their  grat- 
ification and  entertainment,  to  make  them  cheerful 
and  happy  if  possible,  to  make  them  feel  that  her 
interest  is  common  with  theirs,  and,  in  fine,  to  treat 
them,  as  she  might  reasonably  wish  to  be  treated  in 
change  of  circumstances.  Will  you  tell  me  that  when 
all  this  is  done,  many  of  them  will  prove  extremely  un- 
grateful ?  I  must  be  allowed  to  doubt,  when  such  is 
the  result,  whether  all  this  is  done.  That  is  the  very 
point  to  be  reached ;  the  removal  of  that  ingratitude  ; 
the  removal  of  that  soured  and  irritated  feeling,  that 
often  settles  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  even  when 
there  is  the  effervescence  of  many  kind  emotions  on 


ON    SOCIETY.  131 

the  surface.  And  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten,  that  there 
are  grievances  too,  in  the  condition  of  the  employed, 
which  furnish  some  ground  for  this  irritated  feeling. 
Those  who  listen  to  me,  may  imagine  that  all  the  com- 
plaint, since  they  hear  no  other,  is  on  one  side.  What 
incessant  trials,  you  say,  there  are  with  servants !  But 
I  can  tell  you  of  places  where  all  the  complaint  is  on 
the  other  side — of  departments  in  the  domestic  estab- 
lishment, where  all  the  confidential  communings  toge- 
ther, are  filled  with  complaints  of  the  master  or  mis- 
tress, or  of  their  children. 

This  is  a  case,  in  short,  where  there  are  faults  on 
both  sides.  And  this  is  the  impression,  in  fine,  which 
I  wish  to  make  on  the  heads  of  families.  I  know  that 
there  are  families  where  all  is  going  on  kindly  and 
quietly,  and  I  think  that  the  number  of  such  is  increas- 
ing. But  where  it  is  not,  I  would  admonish  you  against 
the  injustice  of  supposing  that  all  is  right  on  your  part. 
It  was  Pestalozzi,  I  think,  who  had  the  generosity  to 
say,  when  his  pupils  did  not  learn,  that  the  fault  was 
his  own ;  and  this,  doubtless,  as  a  general  maxim,  is 
partly  true.  And  this,  without  doubt,  if  not  equally, 
is,  in  a  measure,  true  of  the  masters  of  families,  who 
fail  in  their  office.  If  they"  would  generously  admit 
this,  instead  of  constantly  complaining  of  their  difficul- 
ties, they  would  be  prepared  resolutely  to  address 
themselves  to  the  task  of  working  out  that  great  reform 
in  domestic  manners  and  morals,  which  the  very  con- 
stitution of  society  among  us  demands.  The  general, 
who  cannot  command  men ;  the  contractor  or  over- 
seer, who  is  always  vexed  by  the  insubordination  and 
insolence  of  his  workmen,  is  usually  reputed  to  be 
guilty  of  some  fault  or  deficiency  on  his  part.     And 


132  ON    SOCIETY. 

this,  I  think,  must  be  accounted  equally  true  of  the 
heads  of  a  family  who  fail  in  like  manner.  I  will  only 
add,  that  the  mighty  power  which  controls  all  human 
beings,  whether  in  the  camp,  the  manufactory,  or  the 
workshop,  is  judicious  kindness  ;  and  that  this  must  be 
the  controlling  power  in  all  well-ordered  and  happy 
families. 

Let  me  now  say  one  word  to  the  class  of  the  em- 
ployed ;  and  especially,  of  domestics.  Why  should  it 
be  thought  a  hardship  or  a  degradation,  to  minister  to 
the  comfort  and  happiness  of  our  fellow-beings  ?  It  is 
the  high  office,  the  noble  bond  of  humanity  to  assist* 
to  serve  one  another.  It  appears  to  me,  that  I  could 
take  a  sincere  pleasure  in  ministering  to  the  daily  and 
hourly  satisfactions  of  any  one,  with  whom  circum- 
stances had  for  a  time  connected  me ;  in  smoothing 
his  path  for  him ;  in  relieving  him  from  annoyances 
and  vexations  ;  in  facilitating  his  business,  his  studies, 
or  his  enjoyments.  What  an  affection,  in  this  domestic 
relation,  what  a  true  friendship  might  one  win  from 
another,  never  to  end  but  with  life  ?  And  what  a  hap- 
piness would  this  be  to  carry  away  from  a  family,  ra- 
ther than  to  retire  in  anger,  and  to  have  one's  retire- 
ment felt  as  a  relief! 

I  say,  that  it  is  no  disgrace  to  give  this  domestic  as- 
sistance. It  is  not  slavery ;  it  is  a  respectable  compact, 
which  one  finds  it  expedient  to  make  with  another. 
And  the  only  real  disgrace  is  in  being  unfaithful  to  the 
terms  of  that  compact.  We  are  made  to  serve  one 
another.  We  are  all  servants.  The  man  who  stands 
in  his  warehouse  or  behind  his  counter,  and  sells  goods 
to  another,  is  his  servant  for  the  time.  The  lawyer  is 
the  servant  of  his  clients,  the  physician  of  his  patients, 


ON    SOCIETY.  133 

and  the  clergyman  of  his  people.     The  highest  in  the 
land  is  only  so  much  more,  the  servant  of  all. 

The  domestic  but  stands  in  one  of  the  many  rela- 
tions of  service  ;  one  that  is  alike  ordained  of  Heaven, 
and  which,  therefore,  cannot  be  intrinsically  dishonor- 
able. He  is  apt,  I  know,  to  imagine  that  the  distinc- 
tions which  are  made  between  him  and  his  employers, 
the  different  situations  and  apartments  which  he  occu- 
pies, his  separation  from  them  in  the  offices  of  life,  in 
conversation,  amusements,  meals,  &c,  imply  some 
discredit.  But  all  this,  let  him  observe,  is  necessary 
to  the  general  comfort,  and  to  his  .own  comfort.  If 
any  ten  persons  were  to  unite  to  form  a  domestic  es- 
tablishment, they  would  find  the  very  distinctions  now 
complained  of,  to  be  inevitable.  Some  must  give  di- 
rections, and  others  must  follow  them.  Some  must 
provide  entertainments,  and  others  must  give  them. 
Some  must  prepare  and  serve  dinner,  and  others  must 
partake  of  it.  These  conditions  cannot  be  blended, 
without  absolute  confusion  and  discomfort.  All  that 
could  be  demanded  in  the  case  supposed,  would  be  a 
rotation  of  these  offices.  But  can  this  be  fairly  de- 
manded in  actual  life  ?  Can  it  be  expected,  that  he 
who  has  built  a  house,  and  furnished  it,  and  who  pays 
all  its  expenses,  should  not  occupy  the  highest  situation 
in  it  ?  I  might  as  well  demand  that  my  neighbor,  who 
lives  at  the  next  door,  should  not  occupy  a  grander 
house  than  mine,  should  not  have  a  more  splendid 
equipage,  or  keep  a  more  luxurious  table.  Nay,  many 
domestics  live  in  more  style,  dress  better,  and  feed 
more  daintily,  than  multitudes  of  the  poor,  who  live  in 
their  own  dwellings.  And  those  poor  might  as  well 
demand,  that  those  above  them,  should  not  be  better 
12 


134  ON    SOCIETY. 

off  than  they  are.  In  short,  the  feeling  that  would  re- 
sist the  conditions  of  domestic  service,  could  not  stop 
till  it  levelled  all  human  conditions  to  literal  equality. 
The  rich  man  must  part  with  his  riches,  the  industri- 
ous with  his  gains,  the  advanced  in  life  with  the  ac- 
quisitions of  many  years,  that  he  may  share  his  advan- 
tages with  the  young,  the  negligent,  or  the  poor. 

It  appears  to  me,  that  any  sensible  young  man  or 
woman  entering  into  life,  may  easily  comprehend  this 
argument.  And  if  he  does,  let  him  patiently  and  cheer- 
fully address  himself  to  his  task,  as  appointed  to  him  by 
Providence.  Let  him  endeavor  so  to  discharge  it,  that 
the  result  in  him  shall  be,  not  an  irritated  temper,  a 
soured  mind,  an  unfaithfnl  practice,  but  that  gentle- 
ness, kindness  and  fidelity,  that  shall  raise  him  above 
all  human  distinctions. 

I  must  turn  now  to  a  consideration,  more  brief  in- 
deed, of  the  artificial  relations  of  society ;  and  here, 
too,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  a  single  point — to  the  re- 
lations created  in  society  by  fashion.  They  are  artifi- 
cial, inasmuch  as  they  are  not  founded  on  merit  or 
mental  culture,  or  even  on  wealth  ;  nor  are  they  re- 
quired by  the  necessities  of  society.  They  are  the  or- 
dinances not  of  nature,  but  of  caprice,  pride  and  am- 
bition. They  do  not  depend  on  different  modes  of 
living;  because  in  this  country,  at  least,  the  same  con- 
veniences, comforts  and  elegances,  substantially,  are 
found  in  different  circles ;  and  we  have  no  idle  class. 
They  seem  to  depend  more  than  upon  any  thing  else, 
upon  the  determination  of  those  who  consider  them- 
selves as  above,  to  keep  down,  and  to  keep  out,  those 
who  are  below.  That  refinement  should  shrink  from 
vulgarity,  and  intelligence  from  ignorance,  and  sense 


ON    SOCIETY.  135 

from  folly,  I  can  understand,  and  understand  to  be 
reasonable  ;  but  whether  these  are  the  terms  on  which 
the  fashionable  classes,  of  this  or  any  other  country, 
stand  towards  the  rest  of  the  world,  I  leave  you  to 
judge.  I  confess,  that  to  me,  fashion  seems  to  stand 
upon  a  much  coarser  and  more  worldly  estimate  of 
things  than  this. 

It  is  difficult,  I  allow,  to  assign  any  law  to  its  ca- 
price. But  that  which  appears  to  me  to  go  far- 
ther than  any  thing  else,  to  explain  its  movements, 
changes  and  vagaries,  is  the  desire  to  escape  from  the 
(so  called)  vulgar  multitude.  The  silly  multitude 
strives  hard  to  keep  up  with  fashion,  in  dress,  equi- 
page, etiquette  and  modes  of  living;  but  the  moment  it 
comes  in  sight,  that  Proteus  thing  changes  its  form. 
The  multitude  ,comes  up,  and  finds  nothing  but  a  taw- 
dry and  forsaken  image.  The  spirit  of  fashion  has 
taken  another  form.  Wealth  is  the  most  favorite  hand- 
maid of  fashion,  as  enabling  it  to  make  the  most  fre- 
quent and  splendid  changes,  and  as  being  itself,  indeed, 
the  distinction  but  of  a  few.  If  wealth  could  purchase 
the  exclusive  privilege  of  wearing  coarse  apparel,  it 
would,  doubtless,  avail  itself  of  the  distinction.  We  see 
opulent  fashion,  indeed,  in  its  fantasies  as  it  would 
seem,  but  really  on  principle,  sometimes  putting  on 
coarse  garments,  for  the  sake  of  a  day's  singularity. 

This  passion  has  lead  its  votaries,  in  the  great  cities 
of  Europe,  to  resort  to  a  device,  which  there  seems  to  be 
some  disposition  among  ourselves,  absurdly  enough,  to 
copy ;  and  that  is  the  notable  device  of  turning  night 
into  day.  There  the  multitude  cannot  follow.  Busi- 
ness must  be  done  in  the  day-time.  The  idle  and  luxu- 
rious classes  of  Europe,  have,  therefore,  found  at  last, 


136  ON    SOCIETY. 

a  world  for  themselves.  They  have  surrounded  them- 
selves with  a  wall  of  darkness  ;  and  they  strive  within 
it,  to  make  a  day  of  their  own,  which  God  has  not 
made.  But  this  violation  of  the  laws  of  nature,  exacts 
of  them  sharp  penalties.  Disease  lurks  in  the  splendid 
purlieus  of  fashionable  indulgence ;  and  the  dews  of 
night  penetrate  their  frames  with  aches  and  pains,  that 
pay  dear  for  hours  of  unnatural  dissipation  and  ex- 
cess. But  that  in  a  country  which  has  no  idle  class, 
where  all  must  do  business,  and  where,  too,  the  earlier 
hours  of  eating,  leave  the  body  exhausted  at  late  even- 
ing, and  so  demanding  stimulants  to  support  it — that 
in  such  a  country  and  under  such  circumstances,  this 
absurd  practice  should  be  gaining  ground,  is  a  striking 
proof  to  what  lengths  the  folly  of  fashionable  imitation 
will  go. 

It  is  on  this  account  that  I  protest  against  the  spirit 
of  fashion.  The  spirit  of  fashion  I  say;  for  I  am  less 
concerned  with  its  particular  arrangements.  And 
when  I  speak  of  its  spirit,  let  me  not  be  understood  to 
ascribe  it  to  all  the  members  of  this  class.  I  have 
lived  too  long  to  judge  men  by  classes.  I  am  far 
enough  from  saying,  that  all  who  belong  to  this  class- 
in  particular,  are  heartless  and  insincere,  or  exclusive 
and  proud.  I  am  happy  to  know  that  the  contrary  is 
the  fact. 

But  there  is  a  spirit  that  is  properly  denominated  the 
spirit  of  fashion.  It  is  a  spirit  of  exclusion.  It  is  a 
spirit  that  wars  against  the  great  claims  of  humanity. 
It  is  a  spirit  that  is  haughty,  cold  and  unkind,  to  those 
who  are  deemed  inferior.  It  does  not  regard  their 
rights,  interests  and  feelings.  It  forgets  that  they  are 
men. 


ON   SOCIETY.  137 

It  is  on  this  account,  on  account  of  its  essential  in- 
humanity, that  I  regard  that  exclusiveness,  which  fash- 
ion has  introduced,  not  into  one  circle  only,  but  into 
the  entire  mass  of  society,  as  worthy  of  the  severest 
reprehension.  And  when  I  say  this  exclusiveness,  I 
do  not  speak  of  any  particular  rules  of  exclusion. 
Distinctions  there  must  be,  certainly ;  different  circles, 
doubtless.  Intimacies  are  to  be  forced  upon  no  man. 
Every  man  has  a  right  to  accept  such  associates  as  he 
chooses.  It  is  not  of  the  particular  arrangements  of 
society  that  I  now  speak,  but  of  its  general  spirit,  of 
the  unchristian  exclusion  and  scorn  that  prevail  in  it. 
And  it  is  not  purse-proud  ignorance,  or  vulgar  assump- 
tion alone,  that  is  liable  to  this  charge.  It  is  not  those 
only,  who  treat  those,  reputed  to  be  beneath  them, 
with  contempt,  or  speak  to  them  in  the  tones  of  harsh 
authority.  There  are  many,  who  have  too  much  good 
breeding  and  good  sense,  to  assume  these  rude  man- 
ners, yet  in  whom  the  feeling  of  exclusion  and  superi- 
ority, is  just  as  strong.  The  veil  of  courtesy,  that  is 
thrown  over  the  feeling,  does  not  at  all  diminish  its 
power. 

The  claim  to  notice,  from  such  persons,  is  some  dis- 
tinction. It  may  be  talent,  it  may  be  wealth,  but  it  is, 
above  all,  the  opinion  of  others  ;  it  is  eclat  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world — it  is,  especially,  belonging  to  a  certain 
class  in  society.  There  is  an  instinctive  shrinking,  as 
if  from  contagion,  from  all  but  this.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain distinction,  then  ;  there  is  a  charmed  circle,  with- 
in which  the  social  exclusionist  entrenches  himself,  and 
that  circle  is  surrounded  as  with  an  electric  chain, 
which  sends  quick  and  thrilling  sensibility  through  ev- 
ery part.  But  touch  an  individual  in  that  circle — but 
12* 


138  ON    SOCIETY. 

mention  his  name,  and  the  man  or  the  woman  we  are 
speaking  of,  feels  it  instantly ;  attention  is  on  the  alert ; 
the  ear  is  opened  to  every  word  ;  there  is  the  utmost 
desire  to  know,  or  to  seem  to  know,  the  individual  in 
question  ; — there  is  an  eagerness  to  talk  about  him,  a 
lively  interest  in  all  that  concerns  him.  Is  he  sick,  or 
is  he  well  ? — is  he  in  this  place,  or  in  that  place  ? — the 
most  ordinary  circumstances  rise  to  great  importance, 
the  moment  they  are  connected  with  him.  But,  now, 
do  you  speak  of  a  person  out  of  that  circle — be  it  of 
fashion,  or  birth,  or  wealth,  or  talent,  or  be  it  a  circle 
composed  of  some  or  all  of  these  ;  and  suddenly  the 
social  exclusionist  has  passed  through  a  total  metamor- 
phosis. He  says  not  a  word,  perhaps :  he  settles  the 
matter  more  briefly,  and  at  less  expense.  His  manner 
speaks.  There  is  an  absolute,  an  wraspeakable  indiffer- 
ence. He  knows  nothing  about  persons  of  that  class, 
who,  alas !  have  nothing  in  this  world  to  make  them 
interesting,  but  their  mind  and  heart.  And  if  you  speak 
of  such  one,  he  opens  his  eyes  upon  you,  as  if  he 
scarcely  comprehended  what  part  of  the  creation  you 
are  talking  about.  And  when  he  is  made,  at  length, 
to  recognize  a  thing  so  unimportant,  as  the  concerns 
of  a  fellow-being,  held  to  be  inferior,  you  find  that  he 
is  included  with  a  multitude  of  others,  under  the  sum- 
mary phrase  of  "  those  people,"  or,  "  that  sort  of  peo- 
ple ;"  and  with  such,  you  would  find  that  he  scarcely 
more  acknowledges  the  tie  of  a  common  nature,  than 
with  the  actually  inferior  beings  of  the  animal  creation. 
This  feeling  of  selfish  and  proud  exclusion  is  confin- 
ed to  no  one  class.  I  wish  we  could  say,  that  it  is  lim- 
ited to  any  one  grade  of  character.  I  wish  we  could 
say,  that  it  did  not  infect  the  minds  of  many  persons, 


ON    SOCIETY.  139 

otherwise,  of  great  merit  and  worth.  I  wish  we 
could  say,  that  any  one  is  exempt  from  it.  Living, 
growing  up,  as  we  all  have  been,  in  a  selfish  world, 
educated,  more  or  less,  by  worldly  maxims,  we  have 
none  of  us,  perhaps,  felt  as  we  ought,  the  sacred  claim 
of  human  nature — felt  our  minds  thrill  to  its  touch,  as 
to  an  electric  chain — felt  ourselves  bound  with  the 
bands  of  holy  human  sympathy — felt  that  all  human 
thought,  desire,  want,  weakness,  hope,  joy  and  grief, 
were  our  own — ours  to  commune  with  and  to  partake 
of.  Few  have  felt  this  ;  for  it  is  always  the  attribute 
of  the  holiest  philanthropy,  or  of  the  loftiest  genius. 
Of  the  loftiest  genius,  I  repeat ;  for  I  venture  to  say, 
that  all  such  genius  has  ever  been  distinguished  by  its 
earnest  sympathy  and  sacred  interest  in  all  human 
feeling.  And  why  should  we  not  feel  it  ?  The  very 
dog,  that  goes  and  lies  down  and  dies  upon  the  grave 
of  his  master,  will  almost  draw  a  tear  from  us,  so  near 
does  he  approach  to  human  affection.  And  when  the 
war-horse,  that  has  carried  his  rider  through  many 
battles,  bows  his  neck,  and  thrills  through  his  whole 
frame,  at  the  approach  and  touch  of  that  master's 
hand,  we  feel  something  more  than  respect,  towards 
the  noble  animal.  Oh  !  sacred  humanity !  how  art 
thou  dishonored  by  thy  children,  when  the  merest  ap- 
pendage of  thy  condition,  the  mere  brute  companion 
of  thy  fortunes,  is  more  regarded  than  thou  ! 

What  a  picture  does  human  society  present  to  us  ! 
If  I  were  to  represent  the  world  in  vision,  I  should 
say  that  I  see  it,  not  as  that  interchange  of  hill  and 
dale  which  now  spreads  around  me,  but  as  one  vast 
mountain ;  and  all  the  multitudes  that  cover  it,  are 
struggling  to  rise  ;  and  those  who,  in  my  vision,  seem 


140  ON    SOCIETY. 

to  be  above,  instead  of  holding  friendly  intercourse 
with  those  who  are  below,  are  endeavoring,  all  the 
while  to  look  over  them,  or  building  barriers  and  fen- 
ces to  keep  them  down ;  and  every  lower  grade  is  us- 
ing the  same  treatment  towards  those  who  are  beneath 
them,  that  they  bitterly  and  scornfully  complain  of, 
in  those  who  are  above  ;  all  but  the  topmost  circle, 
imitators  as  well  as  competitors,  injuring  as  well  as  in- 
jured ;  and  the  topmost  circle — with  no  more  to  gain, 
revelling  or  sleeping  upon  its  perilous  heights,  or  dizzy 
with  its  elevation — soon  falls  from  its  pinnacle  of  pride, 
giving  place  to  others,  who  share  in  constant  succes- 
sion the  same  fate.  Such  is  the  miserable  struggle  of 
social  ambition  all  the  world  over.  And  every  thing, 
I  had  almost  said,  is  helping  it  on:  every  thing,  but 
the  loftiest — I  say  not  common — every  thing  but  the 
loftiest  intellect,  like  that  of  Milton,  or  of  Shakspeare  ; 
every  thing  but  simple  and  holy  religion,  like  that  of 
the  Gospel — but  that  religion  which  came  to  bless  the 
poor,  and  the  broken  in  fortune,  and  the  bruised  in 
heart.  These  holier  influences,  alas  !  have  as  yet  been 
comparatively  but  little  felt.  All  else,  I  repeat,  has 
helped  on  the  evil  strife — institutions,  maxims,  pas- 
sions, the  tone  of  education,  the  spirit  of  society ;  nay, 
even  history,  poetry,  romance  ;  the  entire  body  of  our 
literature  has  been  prostituted  to  the  unholy  work. 
The  image  of  human  pride  has  been  set  up,  like  the 
abomination  of  desolation  spoken  of  by  the  prophet,  in 
the  holy  place  ;  it  has  stood  where  it  ought  not — in  the 
holy  places  of  human  nature  ;  it  has  removed  the  al- 
tar where  men  ought  to  worship  ;  it  has  overshadow- 
ed the  paths  of  society ;  it  has  blighted  the  fruits  of 
honest  and  ingenuous  virtue  ;   it  has  crushed  many 


ON    SOCIETY.  1  1 1 

of  the   noblest  and  most  generous  affections  of  the 
human  heart. 

It  is  time  that  wise  and  good  men,  men  who  can 
afford  to  rest  on  their  intrinsic  dignity  and  worth, 
who,  in  imitation  of  the  holy  Master,  are  above  the 
fear  of  being  confounded  with  the  mean  and  base,  but 
not  above  the  blessed  labor  of  doing  good  to  all,  as 
they  have  opportunity — it  is  time  that  Christians, 
especially,  the  followers  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus, 
should  see  this  subject  in  a  new  light.  We  talk  about 
"  ordinary  people  ;"  and  this  phrase,  you  will  often 
hear  pronounced  in  a  tone  the  most  self-sufficient  and 
disdainful.  Now,  I  shall  venture  to  say,  that  in  a  most 
material,  in  the  most  material  respect,  nobody  is  ordi- 
nary. Human  nature  is  not  an  ordinary  thing.  That 
nature  which  is  capable  of  knowledge,  which  can  rise 
to  heavenly  virtue,  which  is  destined  to  immortality, 
is  not  an  ordinary  thing,  to  be  trampled  down  with  a 
hasty  footstep,  or  to  be  passed  by  with  a  tone  or  phrase 
of  compendious  scorn.  There  is  many  a  work  of 
humdn  hands,  that  we  should  not  treat  in  this  manner. 
There  are  names  of  ancient  genius,  which  bring  a 
glow  into  the  cheek,  as  we  mention  them.  And  if  the 
work  of  such  an  one  was  before  us— if  we  saw  the 
most  common  statue  or  monument  that  had  come 
from  the  chisel  of  Phidias,  or  a  faded  cartoon  from 
the  pencil  of  Raphael,  we  should  not  contemptuously 
pronounce  it  an  H  ordinary  thing."  If  we  used  this 
phrase  at  all,  we  should  do  it  with  a  care  and  con- 
sideration, conveying  the  highest  compliment.  And 
are  less  care  and  consideration  to  be  used,  when  we 
are  speaking  of  the  u  offspring,"  the  work,  '<  the  very 
image"  of  our  Creator  ?     I  would  not  fastidiously  re- 


142  ON    SOCIETY. 

strict  the  freedom  of  colloquial  language.  But  I  do 
think  it  a  serious  question,  whether  any  language,  im- 
plying scorn  of  our  fellow-beings,  should  be  used  with- 
out extreme  caution  and  discrimination,  and  without 
a  feeling  of  evident  pity  and  regret,  that  a  being  so 
nobly  gifted,  should  so  degrade  himself.  The  meanest 
knave,  the  basest  profligate,  the  reeling  drunkard — 
what  a  picture  does  he  present  of  a  glorious  nature  in 
ruins  !  Let  a  tear  fall,  as  he  passes.  Let  us  blame 
and  abhor,  if  we  must,  but  let  us  reverence  and  pity 
still.  What  hopes  are  cast  down  !  what  powers  are 
wasted  !  what  means,  what  indefinite  possibilities  of 
improvement  are  turned  into  gloomy  disappointment ! 
what  is  the  man,  and  what  might  he  be  !  The  very 
body,  with  its  fine  organization,  with  its  wonderful 
workmanship,  groans  and  sickens  when  it  is  made 
the  instrument  of  base  indulgence  !  The  spirit  sighs, 
in  its  secret  places,  over  its  meanness,  its  treachery 
and  dishonor  !  There  is  a  nobler  mind,  in  the  degra- 
ded body,  that  retires  within  itself,  and  will  not  look 
through  the  dimmed  eye,  and  will  not  shine  in  the 
bloated  and  stolid  countenance :  there  is  a  holier  con- 
science, that  will  not  strengthen  the  arm  that  is 
stretched  out  to  defraud — but  sometimes  makes  that 
arm  tremble  with  its  paralyzing  touch,  and  sometimes 
shakes,  as  with  thunder,  the  whole  soul  of  the  guilty 
transgressor ! 

But  it  is  not  so  extreme  a  case,  that  comes  within 
the  range  of  ordinary  and  practical  consideration. 
You  are  surrounded  with  a  mass  of  fellow-beings, 
most  of  whom  have  not  lost  the  common  and  natural 
claims  to  respect.  You  have  a  wrong  and  unworthy 
pride — (let  him  that  heareth,  understand — let  him  that 


ON    SOCIETY.  143 

to  whom  this  belongs,  receive  it — I  say  not  to  whom — 
but  I  say  without  much  fear  of  misapplication) — you 
have  a  wrong  and  unworthy  pride,  which  leads  you 
to  pass  by  your  inferiors,  as  you  consider  them,  with 
cold  neglect  or  slight,  or  to  bestow  upon  them  those 
patronizing  airs,  that  are  more  difficult  to  bear.  And 
I  say  that  you  degrade  not  others,  so  much  as  you 
degrade  yourself,  by  these  manners.  You  show  a 
mind  bound  up  in  worse  than  spiritual  pride ;  that 
says,  "  stand  by  thyself,  for  I  am — not  holier ;  that  were 
indeed  a  claim  to  respect,  could  it  be  sustained — but 
I  am  more  fashionable  than  thou."  You  show  that 
your  mind  has  not  been  in  the  noblest  school. 

The  celebrated  Walter  Scott  has  somewhere  ob- 
served, in  his  popular  works,  that,  in  an  ordinary  ride 
in  a  stage-coach,  he  never  found  a  man  so  dull,  as  not 
to  communicate  to  him — if  a  free  conversation  were 
opened — something,  which  he  would  have  been  very 
sorry  not  to  have  heard.  It  was  a  noble  observation  ; 
and  the  practice  which  it  implied,  no  doubt,  contrib- 
uted much  to  that  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
for  which  this  great  author  is  so  much  distinguished. 

But  it  is  not  as  a  fine  sentiment,  or  as  a  useful 
maxim,  that  I  urge  this  mutual  respect.  I  say  it  is  a 
duty.  I  will  listen  to  no  language  of  haughty  preten- 
sion, or  fastidious  taste,  or  over-refined  doubt ;  I  say 
it  is  a  duty.  I  say  it  is  a  duty,  most  especially  bind- 
ing on  all  Christians  ;  yes,  binding  upon  all  who  make 
any  pretensions  to  a  belief  in  the  religion  of  Jesus 
Christ.  And  remember,  too,  my  brethren,  that  it  is  a 
duty  which  will  one  day  be  felt,  which  will  enforce  con- 
viction through  sanctions  more  commanding,  through 
a  judgment  more  awful,  than  that  of  the  sages,  or  the 


144  ON    SOCIETY. 

preachers  of  this  world.  There  is  an  hour  coming, 
when  all  worldly  distinctions  shall  vanish  away ;  when 
splendid  sin,  with  all  its  pride,  shall  sink  prostrate  and 
cowering  before  the  eye  of  the  eternal  Judge  ;  when 
the  modest  merit  that  it  could  not  look  upon  here,  nay, 
when  the  virtuous  poverty- that  was  spurned  from  its 
gate,  shall  wear  a  crown  of  honor ;  when  Dives  shall 
lift  up  his  eyes  being  in  torment,  and  Lazarus  shall  be 
borne  in  Abraham's  bosom  to  the  presence  of  the 
angels  of  God  ;  when  the  great  gulf  which  shall  sepa- 
rate men  from  one  another,  shall  separate  not  between 
outward  splendor  and  meanness,  but  between  inward, 
spiritual,  essential  purity  and  pollution.  Let  the  judg- 
ment of  that  hour  be  our  judgment  now.  That  which 
will  be  true  there,  is  true  here — is  true  now.  Let 
that  severe  and  solemn  discrimination  find  its  way  into 
this  world.  For  it  is  written,  "  He  that  exalteth  him- 
self shall  be  humbled,  and  he  that  humbleth  himself, 
shall  be  exalted." 


145 


DISCOURSE  VI. 

ON    THE    MORAL    EVILS    TO    WHICH   AMERICAN    SOCIETY 
IS    EXPOSED. 


ACTS  XVII.  27.     And  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations 

OF  MEN,  TO  DWELL  ON  ALL  THE  FACE  OF  THE  EARTH. 

TnE  principle  of  equality  here  stated,  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  our  political  institutions.  It  is  the  first 
and  main  principle  in  our  celebrated  declaration  of 
Independence.  I  have  heard  some  flippant  disputers 
maintain,  that  that  declaration  is  false  ;  because  (they 
say)  men  are,  in  fact,  not  "  born  equal."  As  if  it 
could  have  been  intended  to  assert,  that  all  men  are 
born  with  equal  wit  or  wealth,  or  of  equal  strength 
or  stature.  The  equality  which  we  contend  for  in  this 
country  is  an  equality,  not  of  powers,  but  of  rights. 
It  is  an  equality  before  the  law. 

But  this  qualification  being  made,  our  assertion  of 
the  doctrine  of  equality,  is  strong  and  emphatic.  That 
which  I  have  said  in  a  former  discourse  is,  in  fact,  a 
part  of  our  political  creed — "  that,  without  any  re- 
spect to  external  condition,  one  man  has  as  much 
right  to  have  his  virtue  and  happiness  regarded  as 
another."  The  feeling  which  every  human  being  en- 
tertains, that  he  has,  in  his  welfare,  as  dear  an  interest 
13 


146  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

at  stake,  as  any  other  man,  is  here  perfectly  respected* 
No  man  among  us  is  allowed  to  say  to  any  one  of  his 
fellow-citizens,  "you  are  of  a  meaner  class,  and  it 
matters  little  what  becomes  of  you  ;  you  may  be  trod- 
den under  foot  with  impunity."  The  law  spreads  its 
protecting  shield  over  the  weakest  and  humblest  man 
in  the  community,  and  it  says  to  the  highest  and  the 
haughtiest,  "  thou  shalt  not  touch  a  hair  of  his  head, 
but  by  the  judgment  of  his  peers." 

But  the  leading  feature  of  our  political  condition  is, 
that  this  law  is  ordained  by  the  majority  of  the  people. 
The  law  allows  a  certain  freedom,  and  it  imposes  cer- 
tain restrictions  ;  but  it  is  the  majority  that  determines 
the  extent  of  the  one,  and  the  limit  of  the  other.  This, 
I  say,  is  the  peculiar  feature  of  our  political  condition. 
While,  in  most  other  countries,  these  points  are  deter- 
mined by  prescriptive  usages,  or  by  irresponsible 
orders  of  men,  it  is  here  left  to  the  whole  body  of  the 
people. 

This  state  of  things,  of  course,  raises  every  indivi- 
dual in  society  to  power  and  importance.  Meanwhile, 
the  collective  body  has  already  swept  from  its  path, 
all  permanent,  hereditary  distinctions.  It  has  opened 
to  merit  a  iree  course,  by  which  it  may  rise  to  the 
highest  places  in  society  and  government. 

This  principle  of  equality,  thus  obviously  fitted  to 
produce  a  direct  and  powerful  effect  on  society,  lends 
extraordinary  force  to  another  power  of  equal  import- 
ance, in  its  bearing  on  our  social  character  ;  and  that 
is  the  power  of  public  opinion.  Public  opinion,  in  this 
country,  is  the  aggregate  of  universal  opinion.  It  is 
not  the  opinion  of  the  rich  and  fashionable,  nor  of 
princes  and  nobles  ;   it  is  the  opinion  of  every  body. 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  147 

It  is  the  opinion  of  every  body,  and  it  affects  every 
body.  It  is  like  suffrage,  universal,  and  awarding  all 
distinction.  It  is  like  the  atmosphere  ;  it  presses  every 
man,  and  on  every  side.  And — what  is  especially 
worthy  of  consideration — like  the  atmosphere,  it  leaves 
men  unconscious  of  its  power.  You  move  your  hand 
easily  and  freely  in  the  air,  though  philosophers  tell 
you,  that  the  weight  of  the  air  is  equal  to  fifteen 
pounds  upon  every  square  inch  of  it.  Let  a  vacuum 
be  made  on  one  side  of  you,  and  that  invisible  force, 
of  which  you  are  so  insensible,  would  hurl  you  to  the 
earth  as  with  a  thunderbolt.  It  seldoms  happens,  in- 
deed, that  a  man  is  so  circumstanced  with  regard  to 
public  opinion;  and  there  is,  too,  a  moral  power 
which,  against  all  opinion,  can  stand  firm  ; — "  faithful 
found  amidst  the  faithless."  There  is  such  a  power ; 
but  few  men  are  conscious  on  how  many  lesser  occa- 
sions it  is  necessary  to  exert  it ;  how  liable  they  are 
to  be,  not  crushed  indeed,  but  swayed  from  their  in- 
tegrity and  independence,  by  those  potent  influences, 
assent  and  dissent,  praise  and  dispraise,  flattery  and 
ridicule  ;  and  above  all,  by  the  breath  of  the  bound- 
less multitude — the  mighty  atmosphere  of  opinion  that 
surrounds  us.  The  effect  of  every  thing  that  is  uni- 
versal, is,  in  like  manner,  apt  to  be  unperceived  ;  and 
I  think  it  the  more  important,  therefore,  to  point  out 
some  of  those  dangers  to  our  social  character,  which 
arise  both  from  our  equality,  and  from  that  public 
opinion  to  which  it  gives  an  almost  despotic  power. 

I.  And  the  first  danger  which  I  shall  notice,  and  this 
arises  particularly  from  our  equality,  is  that  of  cold- 
ness and  reserve  in  our  manners. 

I  may  observe  here,  in  entering  upon  these  details, 


148  MORAL    EXPOStRES 

that  our  exposures  in  the  respects  which  I  shall  mention* 
are  only  such  as  appertain  to  human  nature  in  such 
circumstances.  Thus,  with  regard  to  this  trait  of  re- 
serve, I  shall  venture  to  lay  it  down  as  an  unquestion- 
able fact,  that  the  progress  of  nations  towards  equali- 
ty, has  always  been  marked  by  it.  England  has  long 
been  the  freest  country  in  Europe.  Its  manners  are 
proverbial  for  their  reserve.  I  do  not  deny  that  there 
are  other  causes  for  this,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
rise  of  the  lower  classes  in  the  scale  of  society,  is  one. 
Nay,  and  it  is  observable  that  with  the  more  rapid 
steps  of  reform,  this  reserve  has  been  more  rapidly 
gaining  upon  the  English  character.  It  is  remarked, 
that  the  higher  classes  are  more  and  more  withdraw- 
ing themselves  from  the  amusements  and  sports  of  the 
common  people. 

A  writer*  on  the  manners  and  customs  of  Spain, 
fifteen  years  ago,  has,  unintentionally,  given  a  very 
striking  illustration  of  the  general  position,  on  which  I 
am  insisting.  "The  line  of  distinction,"  he  says,  "be- 
tween the  noblesse  and  the  unprivileged  class,  being 
here  drawn  with  the  greatest  precision,  there  cannot 
be  a  more  disagreeable  place  for  such  as  are,  by  edu- 
cation, above  the  lower  ranks,  yet  have  the  misfortune 
of  a  plebeian  birth."  We  shall  immediately  see  the 
reason  of  this.  "An  honest  respectable  laborer,"  he 
says,  "without  ambition,  yet  with  a  conscious  dignity 
of  mind  not  uncommon  among  the  Spanish  peasantry, 
may,  in  this  respect,  well  be  an  object  of  envy  to  ma- 
ny of  his  betters.  Gentlemen  treat  them  with  a  less 
haughty  and  distant  air,  than  is  used  in  England  to- 

*  Doblado's  Letters. 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  149 

wards  inferiors  and  dependants.  A  rabadan,  (chief 
shepherd,)  or  an  apvrador,  (steward,)  is  always  indulg- 
ed with  a  seat,  when  speaking  on  business  with  his 
master ;  and  men  of  the  first  distinction  will  have  a 
kind  word  for  every  peasant,  when  riding  about  the 
country.  Yet  they  will  exclude  from  their  club  and 
billiard  table,  a  well-educated  man,  because,  forsooth, 
he  has  no  legal  title  to  a  Don  before  his  name." 

The  author  here  states  important  facts,  but  he  does 
not  give  the  reasons  for  them.  Why,  then,  is  it,  that 
the  Spanish  gentry  treat  their  dependants  with  a  less 
haughty  and  distant  air,  than  the  English  ?  It  is,  pre- 
cisely, because  the  line  of  distinction  between  them  is 
drawn  with  the  greatest  exactness.  And  why  is  it, 
that  those  plebeians,  who  have  the  misfortune  to  be 
well-educated,  are  an  exception  to  this  liberal  treat- 
ment ?  It  is  simply  because,  in  cultivation  and  man- 
ners, they  approach  nearer  to  their  superiors.  It  is 
because  they  have  claims,  which  it  is  found  necessary 
to  resist  by  some  means  ;  and  the  natural  barrier  is 
reserve. 

But  in  this  country  there  is  no  other  barrier.  All 
the  defences  of  birth  and  rank  are  broken  down. 
Here,  every  man  not  only  has  claims,  but  claims  which 
he  is  allowed  freely  to  put  forward.  Hence,  the  guards 
against  intrusion  among  us ;  the  cautions  and  contri- 
vances used  to  avoid  intercourse  with  persons  held  to 
be  inferior ;  the  engagements  pleaded,  ay,  and  plan- 
ned, to  escape  such  fatal  contact  and  contamination. 
Hence,  the  sensitive  dread  of  being  thought  vulgar ; 
and  hence,  for  one  reason,  the  decline  of  almost  all 
the  homely  old  domestic  and  village  sports,  lest  they 
should  bring  with  them  that  terrible  opprobium.  An 
13* 


150  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

aristocratic  state  of  society  naturally  produces  courte- 
sy, contentment,  order  ;  a  republican,  ambition,  ener- 
gy, improvement.  I  have  seen  a  tree  on  the  smooth 
and  verdant  lawn,  which  spread  far  its  branches  in  un- 
challenged majesty  to  the  sky,  and  whose  outermost 
boughs  nodded  to  the  violets  that  grew  by  its  side,  and 
kissed  the  greensward  beneath  it ;  and  in  its  shadow 
were  the  games  and  sports  of  a  contented  and  cheer- 
ful peasantry.  And  1  have  seen  a  forest,  whose  intru- 
sive underwood  choked  up  the  passages,  and  forced 
the  loftier  trees  to  stretch  away  from  their  compan- 
ions, and  tower  up  towards  heaven  ;  and  there  was 
neither  space  nor  time  there  for  games  or  sports. 

This,  no  doubt,  in  the  mouth  of  an  adversary,  would 
be  thought  a  most  invidious  comparison.  But  I  am 
prepared  to  accept  the  very  ground  on  which  it  places 
us,  and  to  defend  it.  If  the  agriculturist  may  hold  it 
to  be  an  advantage,  that  ten  trees  should  grow  where 
one  grew  before  ;  surely,  the  humane  political  econo- 
mist may  value  that  condition  which  is  favorable  to 
the  growth  of  men — to  the  growth  of  the  many.  So 
well  am  I  satisfied  with  our  institutions  on  this  account, 
that  I  can  afford  to  look  fairly  at  the  inconveniences 
and  dangers  that  attend  them.  I  trust,  indeed,  that 
much  of  the  inconvenient  under-brush  will  be  cleared 
away  from  our  paths,  and  that  we  shall  see  a  fairer 
growth  ;  in  other  words,  that  more  perfect  relations 
in  society  will  spring  up  from  the  general  and  equal 
claims  of  all.  In  the  meantime,  we  have  less  fawning 
and  sycophancy  among  us,  than  prevail  in  other  coun- 
tries. We  have  fewer  parasitical  plants  in  our  forest 
state,  than  are  found  clinging  around  the  oaks  and 
elms  of  Europe.     But  it  must  not  be  denied,  that  we 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  151 

are  sometimes  chilled  by  the  shadow  of  this  thick 
growth  of  society  ;  that  we  are  too  liable,  each  one  to 
stand  stillly  up  for  his  rights;  that  we  are  liable  to  want 
gracefulness  and  amenity  in  our  manners  ;  that  we 
a iv  exposed  to  have  our  hearts  locked  up  in  rigid  and 
frozen  reserve.  A  prince  or  a  nobleman,  in  a  state  of 
unbroken  aristocracy,  does  not  fear  that  his  dignity  or 
reputation  will  be  compromised,  by  the  presence  of 
an  inferior,  in  his  house  or  in  his  society.  He  is  at 
ease  on  this  point,  because  his  claims  stand  on  an  in- 
dependent basis.  But  with  us,  he  who  would  hold  a 
higher  place,  must  obtain  it  from  the  general  voice. 
He  is  dependant  on  suffrage  as  truly  as  the  political 
aspirant.  Hence,  every  circumstance  affecting  his 
position,  is  important  to  him.  And  the  circumstance 
that  most  immediately  and  obviously  affects  it,  is  the 
company  he  keeps.  On  this  point,  therefore,  he  is 
likely  to  be  extremely  jealous.  And  this,  I  conceive, 
to  be  one  reason,  for  the  proverbial  reserve  of  our 
national  manners. 

I  have  thus  far  endeavored  to  unfold  the  danger  on 
this  point,  to  which  I  think  that  our  situation  exposes 
us.  Let  me  now  observe,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most 
serious  moral  importance.  There  is  an  intimate  con- 
nection between  the  manners  and  feelings  of  a  people. 
A  cold  demeanor,  though  it  may  not  prove  coldness 
of  heart,  tends  to  produce  it.  The  feelings  that  are 
locked  up  in  reserve,  are  liable  to  wither  and  shrink, 
from  simple  disuse.  He  who  stands  in  the  attitude  of 
perpetual  resistance  to  the  claims  of  others,  is  very 
apt  to  acquire  a  hardness  and  inhumanity  towards 
them.  He  is  liable  to  be  cold,  harsh  and  ungracious, 
both  in  feeling  and  deportment.     He  is  in  the  very 


152  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

school,  not  of  generosity  and  love,  but  of  selfishness  and 
scorn  and  pride.  And  vainly  might  any  Christian  people 
boast  of  its  intelligence,  refinement  or  freedom,  if  it  fail 
thus,  of  the  essential  virtues  of  the  Christian  religion. 

The  domestic  affections  are  peculiarly  liable  to  suf- 
fer under  the  same  influence.  "A  poor  relation" — 
says  an  English  writer,  satirizing  the  manners  of  his 
countrymen — "  is  the  most  irrelevant  thing  in  nature  ; 
a  piece  of  impertinent  correspondency ;  an  odious  ap- 
proximation ;  a  haunting  conscience  ;  a  preposterous 
shadow,  lengthening  in  the  noontide  of  your  prosperi- 
ty ;  an  unwelcome  remembrancer ;  a  perpetually  re- 
curring mortification;  a  drawback  upon  success;  a 
rebuke  to  your  rising  ;  a  mote  in  your  eye  ;  a  triumph 
to  your  enemy ;  an  apology  to  your  friends."*  Where, 
I  was  ready  to  say,  but  in  England — but  I  will  gener- 
alize the  observation — where,  but  in  countries  that  give 
birth  and  insecurity  at  once  to  individual  aspirings, 
could  such  a  satire  have  been  framed  ?  Not  among 
the  wild  Highlanders  of  Scotland  ;  not  among  the 
barbarous  chieftains  of  our  own  native  forests  ;  not, 
I  think,  with  the  same  force  at  least,  in  Germany,  in 
France,  in  Spain,  or  in  Italy.  I  will  not  undertake  to 
say  how  far  the  satire  applies  to  our  own  people.  But 
this  I  say,  that  we  are  very  liable  to  deserve  it.  And 
I  would  warn  my  countrymen,  coftld  I  speak  to  them, 
against  this  odious  and  barbarous  treatment  of  their 
poor  and  depressed  or  uncourtly  relatives,  as  against 
a  sin  worse  than  sacrilege  and  blasphemy ! 

Religion,  too,  is  liable  to  lose  much  of  its  expansion, 
generosity  and  beauty,  under  the  pressure  of  this  na» 


Elia. 


OP    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  153 

tional  reserve.  I  have  sometimes  doubted,  whether  a 
religion  so  cold,  inaccessible  and  repulsive,  ever  could 
have  existed  in  any  other  country,  as  that  which  has 
prevailed  in  this.  The  manners  of  the  country  foster 
a  peculiar  reserve  among  us,  an  austerity,  a  sancti- 
moniousness, nowhere  else  to  be  found.  The  enthu- 
siasm of  the  country,  checked  in  every  other  direction, 
is  checked  in  this,  no  less.  The  same  fervor,  the  same 
freedom  of  action,  will  not  be  borne  in  our  pulpit,  that 
is  welcomed  in  most  other  countries.  Ridicule — "  the 
world's  dread  laugh" — is  scarcely  any  where  in  the 
world  so  much  feared  as  here  ;  and  the  reason  is,  that 
here,  the  world — every  body  is  judge.  The  preacher 
is  begirt  with  a  thousand  critical  eyes.  He  does  not 
step  forth  from  his  lofty  stall  to  his  loftier  pulpit,  to 
address  an  ignorant  multitude,  as  he  might  in  Italy  or 
Spain  ;  but  he  stands  up  to  address  those  who  are  to 
judge  him ;  and  not  inly  to  judge,  but  to  award  him 
life  or  death  in  his  profession. 

But  not  to  wander  from  the  point  I  have  in  view  ; 
I  declare  my  conviction,  that  religion  in  this  country, 
has  a  peculiar  hardness  and  repulsiveness  ;  that  it  is 
not  genial  and  gentle,  gracious  and  tender,  in  the  com- 
mon administration  of  it ;  that  it  speaks,  I  do  not  say 
to  heretics,  but  to  the  mass  of  the  people,  from  the 
sealed  up  bosom  of  a  more  pitiless  exclusion,  than  it 
does  any  where  else  in  the  world.  The  Church  of 
Rome  is,  indeed,  severe  and  exclusive  towards  here- 
tics ;  but  to  its  own  people,  it  is  all  graciousness  and 
love,  compared  with  the  Puritan  and  Presbyterian 
forms  of  administration.  Individual  exceptions,  of 
course,  are  always  to  be  allowed  in  representations 
of  this  general  character  ;  but  I  hold  that,  in  the  main, 


154  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

the  Protestantism  of  other  countries — the  Church  of 
England,  for  instance,  and  the  Lutheranism  of  Ger- 
many— are  more  genial  ;  that  they  speak  with  a 
kinder  tone  to  the  people,  than  the  Protestantism  of 
America.  And  the  consequence  is,  that  multitudes 
among  us,  and  especially  of  the  young,  are  more 
repelled  from  religion,  than  the  people  of  any  other 
Christian  nation.  We  are  a  very  religious  people,  it 
is  said,  and  it  is  true  ;  so  it  would  appear  to  the  eye 
of  a  stranger  ;  and  the  best  foreign  writer*  who  has 
visited  us,  has  said,  that  he  never  saw  a  people  so  re- 
ligious ;  and  yet  I  fear,  that  many  among  us  are  very 
religious,  who  do  not  heartily  love  religion.  But  es- 
pecially with  regard  to  the  young  in  this  country,  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  their  state  is,  in  this  respect, 
very  singular.  It  is  not  the  want  of  religious  affec- 
tions and  habits  only  ;  this,  though  it  is  to  be  regret- 
ted in  all  countries,  is  not  peculiar  to  the  young  any 
where.  But  it  is  a  state  of  the  sentiments  here,  of 
which  I  speak.  It  is  a  feeling  of  strange  and  almost 
preternatural  superstition  about  religion  ;  a  feeling,  in 
the  young,  as  if  religion  were  shut  up  from  them  in 
seclusion  and  reserve  ;  a  feeling  as  if  they  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Why  is  this  ?  Why,  but  because  the 
clergy,  in  the  first  place,  constitute  a  peculiar  and  re- 
served class — because  they  are  guarded  and  sequester- 
ed from  all  the  amusements  of  society,  from  almost  all 
the  scenes  of  cheerful,  social  enjoyment ;  and  because, 
in  the  next  place,  professors  of  religion  mostly  are  shut 
up  in  the  iron  mask  of  peculiarity,  and  communicate 
with  the  world,  in  their  religious  capacity,  as  it  were 

*  De  Tocqueville. 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  155 

only  through  the  bars  of  an  ugly  and  distorting  visor. 
And  these  two  classes  are  considered  as  the  represen- 
tatives of  all  the  religion  of  the  country.  How,  then, 
can  the  young  and  unreflecting  be  expected  to  feel 
attracted  to  such  a  religion?  Suppose  that  all  the 
churches  of  a  country  were  built  in  lonely  places,  like 
the  shrine  of  Dodona;  were  set  far  apart  from  all 
human  habitation,  and  were  to  be  approached  only  by 
taking  a  painful  pilgrimage,  away  from  all  the  cheerful 
haunts  of  life.  This  would  be  only  a  visible,  though, 
as  I  admit,  a  strong  representation  of  the  isolated  and 
reserved  character  which  religion  has  assumed  among 
us.  Suppose  that  all  the  clergy  should  put  on  sack- 
cloth, and  wear  long,  sad  weeds,  hanging  from  the 
head,  the  hands,  the  arms,  and  every  part  of  their 
person,  and  should  walk  forth  among  the  people  with 
slow  and  melancholy  steps,  and  an  abstracted  air; 
this,  I  say  again,  would  be  only  a  visible  representa- 
tion of  the  ideas  with  which  a  people  may  clothe  the 
ministers  of  religion.  And  how  far  does  the  fact  differ 
from  the  representation,  when  the  sight  of  a  clergy- 
man at  places  of  amusement,  where  every  body  else 
may  go  with  perfect  propriety,  would  be  accounted  a 
kind  of  sacrilege,  a  desecration  of  his  office  !  You 
may  clothe  a  man  with  an  intellectual  costume,  as  re- 
pulsive as  any  visible  costume.  You  may  thus  as 
truly  make  him  a  spectre  and  a  bugbear  to  the  young, 
as  if  you  made  him  wear  weeds  and  sackcloth.  And 
if  this  man,  the  official  representative  of  religion,  is 
thus  invested  with  a  peculiarity,  and  forced  into  a 
solemn  reserve,  unknown  in  other  countries — a  re- 
serve, especially,  from  most  of  the  cheerful  resorts  and 
recreations  of  society ;  if  he  is  seldom  seen  where 


156  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

men  are  gay  and  happy  ;  and  if,  when  he  is  seen,  his 
presence  lays  an  irksome  restraint  upon  the  company 
he  visits,  how  is  it  surprising,  that  our  youth  should 
feel  that  peculiar  strangeness  and  alienation  towards 
religion,  of  which  I  am  speaking.  Suppose  that  a 
father  were  to  treat  his  children  in  this  way ;  could 
they  love  him  ?  I  allow  that  in  all  these  things  a  gra- 
dual improvement  is  showing  itself.  But  he  cannot 
have  looked  deeply  into  the  spirit  of  society  around 
him,  who  does  not  yet  see  much  to  lament.  And  how 
saddening  is  the  reflection,  that  at  the  very  time  when 
religion  is  wanted  to  mould,  to  soften,  to  control  and 
satisfy  the  bursting  affections  of  the  heart,  when  youth 
is  beginning  to  feel  its  nature's  great  want,  when  it  is 
swayed  by  alternate  enthusiasm  and  disappointment, 
and  has  not  yet  stepped  deep  into  vice  and  worldliness ; 
how  lamentable  that  it  should  stand  before  the  altar 
of  religion,  listening  as  to  a  cold,  stern  oracle  from  a 
heathen  shrine,  instead  of  hearing  the  words,  Abba, 
Father  ;  instead  of  feeling  that  God  is  its  Father,  and 
the  Saviour  its  friend,  and  every  Christian  minister  its 
brother ! 

II.  But  I  must  proceed  to  speak  briefly  of  another 
trait  of  the  social  character,  to  which  the  state  of  po- 
litical equality  exposes  us  ;  and  that  is  discontent.  To 
this  I  may  add,  the  danger  of  imprudent  and  extrava- 
gant expenditures. 

But  to  speak  distinctly  of  the  feeling  of  discontent, 
in  the  first  place ;  it  may  be  observed,  that  there  is 
scarcely  a  limit  among  us,  to  any  man's  aspirings. 
And  yet,  it  is  no  more  possible  that  all  should  be  first, 
in  this  country,  than  in  any  other.  And  the  very  cir- 
cumstance that  these  aspirings  are  universal  and  im- 


OP   AMERICAN    SOCI18TY.  /   ^,157        -J 

portunate,  creates  among  us,  as  I  ha^e  saH^aeculiar  /  /. 
reaction.     This  demand,  on  the  one  hanfr^ana  tfns  re- 
sistance on  the  other,  are  likely,  it  is  obvious,  to  give'  y  j 
birth  to  an  unusual  and  prevalent  feeling  of  discontent.      '  „<f 

Doubtless,  the  feeling  prevails  sufficiently  in  other 
countries :  and  it  may  be  thought,  since  one  class  only, 
and  that  a  small  one,  is  elevated  by  birth  and  rank 
above  the  rest,  that  the  feeling  may  have  as  full  scope 
among  their  inferior  circles,  as  it  has  among  ourselves. 
But  the  truth  is,  that  the  existence  of  this  class  in  those 
countries,  gives  a  tone  to  the  whole  body  of  society. 
The  distinction  of  classes  is  not  an  offence  with  them, 
as  it  would  be  with  us.  People  there  more  willingly 
consent  to  permanent  inferiority.  Men  expect  to  live 
and  die,  in  the  condition  of  life  in  which  they  were 
born,  and  in  the  calling  to  which  they  have  been 
brought  up.  The  case  with  us,  is  widely  different ; 
and  the  exposure  to  discontent  is  proportionably  in- 
creased. 

To  exhibit  the  various  forms  which  this  trait  as- 
sumes, would  require  the  liberty  of  dramatic  or  ficti- 
tious writing.  In  the  necessarily  sober  and  didactic 
discussions  of  the  pulpit,  I  can  scarcely  do  more  than 
refer  you,  for  its  existence,  to  your  own  consciousness 
or  observation.  I  say,  your  observation  ;  and  yet,  this 
is  a  feeling  that  so  sedulously  shrinks  from  notice,  that 
you  can  hardly  gain  from  that  source,  any  just  idea  of 
its  prevalence  and  depth.  Could  I  get  an  honest  con- 
fession written  out  from  the  hearts  of  many  around  us, 
I  have  no  doubt,  that  it  would  reveal  an  extent  and 
poignancy  of  suffering  from  this  cause,  of  which  you 
may  be  little  aware.  For  this  conviction,  I  need  only 
to  be  acquainted  with  the  principles  of  human  nature, 
14 


158  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

I  only  need  to  know,  that  all  men  are  made  to  desire 
the  approbation  and  attention  of  one  another;  and 
then  to  know,  that  here  are  circumstances  unusually 
fitted  to  afford  expansion  at  once,  and  dissappointment 
to  this  desire,  in  order  to  feel  myself  justified  in  mak- 
ing a  very  strong  representation.  Indeed,  the  indirect 
proofs  of  it,  under  the  circumstances,  are,  perhaps, 
the  clearest.  As  an  author,  by  showing  an  apparent 
indifference  to  the  success  of  his  writings,  commonly 
betrays,  by  that  very  manner,  the  keenest  interest 
about  it ;  so  do  I  think  that  the  coldness  and  hauteur 
of  many  persons  towards  their  neighbors,  leads  to  the 
same  inference.  They  never  speak  of  them,  perhaps, 
for  the  very  reason  that  they  are  always  thinking  about 
them ;  or  they  speak  with  guarded  indifference,  be- 
cause they  have  something  within  them  to  guard.  But 
not  to  rest  on  indirect  disclosures  ;  you  must  know 
that  many  of  the  dissensions,  shall  I  say  quarrels,  of 
families,  and  many  of  the  manifest  jealousies  and 
heart-burnings  of  society,  arise  from  mortified  pride. 
A  man  feels  that  he  is  not  known  to  society  as  he  ought 
to  be,  that  he  has  not  the  acquaintances  to  which  he 
is  entitled  ;  the  fashionable  reject  him ;  or  if  he  has 
gained  that  first-rate  object,  as  it  is  usually  considered, 
then  there  is  a  literary  circle  to  which  he  does  not  be- 
long ;  some  exclusive  circle  there  is,  of  some  kind,  to 
which  he  is  not  admitted ;  and  he  broods  over  it ;  he 
feels  it ;  he  thinks  of  it  with  ill-suppressed  anger  and 
vexation.  He  has  got  property  or  talent,  perhaps,  but 
he  cannot  get  that  for  which,  as  one  inducement,  he 
sought  property  or  distinction.  In  some  minds,  this  is 
an  honorable  feeling,  a  just  and  reasonable  desire 
for  the  acquaintance  of   congenial   minds.      But  it 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  159 

is  too  apt  to  sink  into  the  baser  feeling  of  chagrin  and 
spite. 

It  is  not  to  be  forgotten,  in  this  connection,  that  so- 
ciety does  great  wrong  to  many,  and  great  injury  to 
itself,  by  the  neglect  of  merit.  By  a  superficial  esti- 
mate of  the  claims  to  notice,  by  bestowing  its  chief  at- 
tention upon  wealth,  beauty,  and  the  eclat  of  talent, 
rather  than  upon  talent  itself,  and  by  setting  up  a  stan- 
dard of  expense  in  its  entertainments,  which  makes  a 
considerable  property  a  necessary  passport  to  its  ad- 
vantages, society  cuts  off  a  great  deal  of  worth,  intelli- 
gence and  refinement,  with  which  it  can  very  ill  afford 
to  part.  The  simple  entertainments,  the  intellectual 
soirees  of  the  cultivated  cities  of  Europe,  open  a  door 
to  merit,  that  is  nearly  closed  among  us.  It  is  the 
true  policy  of  society  to  collect  and  concentrate,  as 
much  as  possible,  the  scattered  rays  of  mental  illumi- 
nation. But  if,  instead  of  this,  it  goes  about,  virtually 
putting  an  extinguisher  upon  all  the  lights  that  are 
burning  in  silence  and  obscurity,  instead  of  bringing 
them  into  notice,  the  loss  is  its  own ;  and  it  is  an  irre- 
parable loss.  Mind  is  the  only  thing  which  it  cannot 
afford  to  lose.  Let  the  fashion  of  the  country  look  to 
it,  that  it  does  not  become  degraded  before  the  eyes  of 
all  the  world,  by  this  illiberal  exclusion.  Show  me  a 
society  where  wealth,  dress  and  equipage,  are  the  chief 
titles  to  advancement ;  from  which  the  great  body  of 
the  educated,  reading  and  thinking  men  of  the  country 
are  excluded,  or  choose  to  exclude  themselves ;  and  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  you  show  me  a  frivolous 
and  vulgar  society.  Depend  upon  it,  the  conversa- 
tion will  become  mean  and  insipid ;  and  the  manners 
will  want  the  last  graces  of  manner,  ease  and  simpli- 


160  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

city.     Intellect,  cultivated  and  spiritualized  intellect,  is 
the  only  true  refiner. 

But  I  spoke,  also,  as  connected  with  the  worldly 
pride  and  discontent  of  society,  of  the  temptations  to 
imprudent  and  extravagant  expense.  In  a  state  of 
society  like  ours,  does  not  every  one  see,  that  these 
temptations  are  carried  to  the  utmost  length  ;  that  no 
condition  of  things  on  earth  can,  in  this  respect,  more 
endanger  the  prudence  and  virtue  of  men  ?  In  regard 
to  their  expenses,  men  are  apt  to  govern  themselves, 
by  the  consideration  of  what  is  proper  to  their  condi- 
tion, rank  or  class  in  society.  It  is  often  a  decisive 
argument  for  the  purchase  of  a  certain  article  of  fur- 
niture or  apparel,  or  for  offering  entertainments  in  a 
certain  style,  that  others  are  doing  the  same  thing. 
But  what  others  1  This  question  unfolds  the  peculiar 
temptation  that  besets  us.  Families,  in  this  country, 
scarcely  have  any  fixed  and  ascertained  condition  or 
rank.  They  are  separated  from  each  other,  not  by 
visible  lines,  but  by  imperceptible  shades  of  distinc- 
tion. In  following  others,  they  do  not  readily  see 
where  to  stop.  All,  at  the  same  time,  are  aspiring  to 
a  higher  condition*  And  in  the  absence  of  hereditary 
distinctions,  the  style  of  living  is  too  apt  to  be  consid- 
ered as  the  grand,  visible  index  of  that  condition.  The 
coat  of  arms  is  nothing  ;  and  it  is  the  coat  that  a  man 
wears,  that  must  mark  him  out.  The  hatchment  has 
passed  away  from  our  house-fronts ;  those  houses 
themselves,  then,  must  set  forth  our  respectability.  In 
houses,  therefore,  in  apparel,  and  in  every  species  of 
expense,  we  are  liable  to  go  too  far ;  to  cross,  one 
after  another,  the  shadowy  intervals  that  separate  us 
from  those  who  are  above  us  in  their  means,  and  to 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  161 

be  urged  on  to  inconvenient  and  ruinous  expendi- 
tures. 

I  think  1  have  properly  connected  this  topic,  extrav- 
agance, with  what  1  have  said  of  the  discontent  of 
society.  An  irritated  sense  of  inferiority,  a  diseased 
ambition,  at  once  blinds  and  goads  a  man  into  the 
■nates  of  rash  expense  and  ruinous  debt.  It  is  often 
a  word  of  discontent  pronounced  in  a  domestic  con- 
sultation, that  decides  the  question ;  and  carries  a  man 
to  do  what  he  feels  to  be  unnecessary,  and  knows  to 
be  imprudent,  lie  knows  that  it  is  rather  beyond  his 
means  ;  but  he  hopes  that  his  business  will  be  pros- 
perous, that  his  speculations  will  be  fortunate  ;  and  he 
has,  at  least,  the  satisfaction  of  gratifying  those  wTho 
are  dearest  to  him.  His  daughter  shall  have  such  and 
such  decorations,  his  wife,  a  certain  equipage  ;  others 
have  them,  and  "  they  ??iust"  If  those  others  were 
any  body  in  particular  ;  and  if  any  body  had  a  limit, 
the  case  would  be  better.  But  those  others  are  every 
body  in  their  sphere,  that  is  a  little  beyond  them.  Thus 
a  man  enters  upon  the  hazardous  "experiment  of  liv- 
ing beyond  the  means" — of  living  upon  resources  that 
are  not  yet  realized.  For  a  while,  the  business  of  the 
country  may  be  so  prosperous  as  to  bear  him  through 
all.  But  the  times  are  likely  to  change ;  and  the  specula- 
tions that  were  to  relieve,  may  become  obligations 
that  bind  and  fetter  him.  Or,  if  not,  yet  the  domestic 
ambition  which,  restrained  by  no  definite  rule,  is  for 
ever  saying,  "  give*  give,"  is  likely  to  bring  about  the 
same  result.  The  man  is  in  debt*  He  is  obliged  to 
look  in  the  face,  people,  and  perhaps  poor  people, 
whom  he  cannot  pay.  It  is  a  situation,  infinitely  irri- 
tating and  mortifying.  We  are  a  people,  I  knowr,  to 
14* 


162  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

a  proverb,  reckless  of  debt ;  reckless,  at  least,  about 
plunging  into  it ;  but  no  man  can  be  in  it,  and  find  the 
situation  an  easy  one.  No  man  can,  without  passing, 
I  had  almost  said,  through  worse  than  purgatorial  tor- 
ments, become  callous  to  the  demand  for  payment.  It 
turns  the  whole  of  life  into  a  scene  of  misery  and 
mortification — makes  its  whole  business  and  action  a 
series  of  sacrifices  and  shifts  and  subterfuges.  Home 
itself,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  and  peace — the  very 
home,  that  has  lost  its  independence  in  its  splendor — 
that  is  not  protected  from  the  intrusive  step  and  con- 
temptuous tone  of  the  unsatisfied  creditor,  has  lost  its 
charm.  It  is  no  longer  a  sanctuary ;  and  it  is  but  too 
likely  to  be  forsaken  for  other  resorts.  Many  a  man, 
not  only  in  the  city  but  in  the  country,  has  gone  down 
in  character  and  self-respect,  in  virtue  and  hope,  under 
the  accumulated  weight  of  these  overwhelming  em- 
barrassments. 

Now  I  maintain,  that  in  such  a  country  as  this,  spe- 
cial guards  are  to  be  set  up  against  discontent  and 
extravagance.  With  regard  to  the  last,  let  every  man 
be  resolute ;  let  him  firmly  set  his  limit,  and  resolve 
to  live  far  within  the  means.  It  is  the  only  way  to  be 
happy  in  his  condition,  and,  in  fact,  it  is  the  only 
way  to  be  honest.  With  regard  to  the  first  of  these 
exposures,  it  is  less  easy  to  lay  down  any  definite  rule. 
We  all  desire  the  esteem  of  society ;  and  its  notice  is 
the  only  visible  mark  of  its  esteem.  Yet,  let  a  man 
beware  how  he  barters  away  for  it  the  peace  of  his 
mind.  Let  him  live  at  home,  in  his  own  bosom ;  and 
not  abroad,  in  the  thoughts  of  others.  His  mind  must 
thus  travel  abroad  sometimes,  no  doubt ;  but  ht  it 
lire  at  home.     Let  it  find  content  in  self-culture,  in 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  163 

the  few  fast  and  strong  friendships,  and,  above  all,  in 
the  resources  of  religion.  Never,  and  nowhere,  per- 
haps, has  the  strong  sentiment  of  religion  been  so  ne- 
cessary, in  any  age  and  in  any  country,  as  it  is  in  this 
age,  and  in  this  country. 

III.  But  I  must  hasten  to  notice,  in  the  last  place, 
another  exposure  of  the  national  character,  and  that 
is,  to  pusillanimity. 

You  will  think,  perhaps,  as  I  offer  this  further  con- 
sideration, and  in  such  undisguised  language,  that  I  am 
the  accuser  of  my  country,  rather  than  its  defender. 
My  answer  is,  as  before,  that  I  have  such  a  calm  and 
strong  conviction  of  its  merits  and  advantages,  that  I 
can  afford  to  speak  plainly  of  its  dangers  and  faults. 
The  irritable  sensitiveness  to  blame  among  us,  I  hold, 
is  not  the  true  self-respect.  And  more  than  this  ;  the 
errors  to  which  we  are  exposed,  must  be  fairly  can- 
vassed, frankly  admitted,  and  fully  corrected,  that  we 
may  be  justly  entitled  to  our  own  respect,  or  that  of 
other  nations. 

And  now,  I  desire  you  to  look  at  the  exposure  in 
question,  and  see  if  it  is  not  peculiar ;  and  so  power- 
ful, too,  that  a  complete  and  immediate  escape  from 
it,  would,  in  fact,  have  proved  us  more  than  human. 
Every  man  in  this  country  is  dependant  for  his  position 
upon  public  opinion.  There  is  no  exception.  But  in 
most  other  countries,  there  are  many  exceptions.  In 
the  first  place,  there  is  the  class  of  nobles  who  hold 
their  place  by  birth.  •  In  the  next  place,  the  clergy 
generally  are  presented  to  their  livings,  and  are  not 
dependant  on  the  popular  voice.  Then  there  are  a 
multitude  of  minor  situations  and  offices,  for  which  their 
incumbents  are  indebted,  not  to  election,  but  to  ap- 


164  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

pointment.  Even  wealth,  I  think,  holds  a  more  inde- 
pendent position  abroad,  than  it  does  with  us.  This 
may  be  thought  a  surprising  opinion  ;  because  it  is  con- 
stantly said,  that  where  hereditary  distinctions  do  not 
exist,  wealth  is  apt  to  take  their  place,  and  to  be  more 
eagerly  sought.  It  may  be  more  eagerly  sought ;  and 
yet,  it  may  have  a  less  independent  power  when  it  is 
gained.  Abroad,  wealth  shines  by  the  reflected  light 
of  an  opulent  aristocracy.  The  possession  of  it  is 
thus  associated  with  the  highest  titles  to  respect  and 
deference.  And  it  is  able,  as  an  undoubted  matter  of 
fact,  to  command  a  deference  and  observance,  which 
it  never  receives  with  us.  It  can  speak  to  its  depen- 
dants and  agents  there,  as  it  does  not  here  ;  and  as,  I 
trust,  it  never  will.  One  of  the  most  painful  aspects 
of  society  abroad,  is  the  cringing  and  fawning  of  so 
many  worthy  and  intelligent  men,  at  the  feet  of  rank 
and  opulence. 

But  we,  in  this  country,  have  our  own  dangers. 
And  the  greatest  of  all  dangers  here,  as  I  conceive, 
is  that  of  general  pusillanimity,  of  moral  cowardice, 
of  losing  a  proper  and  manly  independence  of  char- 
acter. I  think  that  I  see  something  of  this  in  our  very 
manners,  in  the  hesitation,  the  indirectness,  the  cau- 
tious and  circuitous  modes  of  speech,  the  eye  asking 
assent  before  the  tongue  can  finish  its  sentence.  I 
think  that  in  other  countries,  you  oftener  meet  with 
men,  who  stand  manfully  and  boldly  up,  and  deliver 
their  opinion  without  asking  or  caring  what  you  or  oth- 
ers think  about  it.  It  may,  sometimes,  be  rough  and 
harsh ;  but,  at  any  rate,  it  is  independent.  Observe, 
too,  in  how  many  relations,  political,  religious  and  so- 
cial, a  man  is  liable  to  find  bondage  instead  of  free- 


OF    AMERICAN    SOCIETY.  165 

dom.  If  he  wants  office,  he  must  attach  himself  to 
a  party,  and  then  his  eves  must  be  sealed  in  blind- 
ness, and  his  lips  in  silence,  towards  all  the  faults  of 
his  party.  He  may  have  his  eyes  open,  and  he  may 
see  much  to  condemn,  but  he  must  say  nothing.  If 
he  edits  a  newspaper,  his  choice  is  often  between  bon- 
dage and  beggary.  That  may  actually  be  the  choice, 
though  he  does  not  know  it.  He  may  be  so  com- 
plete a  slave,  that  he  does  not  feel  the  chain.  His 
passions  may  be  so  enlisted  in  the  cause  of  his  party, 
as  to  blind  his  discrimination,  and  destroy  all  com- 
prehension and  capability  of  independence.  So  it 
may  be  with  the  religious  partisan.  He  knows,  per- 
haps, that  there  are  errors  in  his  adopted  creed,  faults 
in  his  sect,  fanaticism  and  extravagance  in  some  of  its 
measures.  See  if  you  get  him  to  speak  of  them.  See 
if  you  can  get  him  to  breathe  a  whisper  of  doubt. 
No,  he  is  always  believing.  He  has  a  convenient 
phrase  that  covers  up  all  difficulties  in  his  creed.  He 
believes  it  "  for  substance  of  doctrine."  Or  if  he  is 
a  layman,  perhaps  he  does  not  believe  it  at  all. 
What,  then,  is  his  conclusion  ?  Why,  he  has  friends 
who  do  believe  it ;  and  he  does  not  wish  to  offend 
them.  And  so  he  goes  on,  listening  to  what  he  does 
not  believe  ;  outwardly  acquiescing,  inwardly  remon- 
strating ;  the  slave  of  fear  or  fashion,  never  daring, 
not  once  in  his  life  daring,  to  speak  out  and  openly  the 
thought  that  is  in  him.  Nay,  he  sees  men  suffering 
under  the  weight  of  public  reprobation,  for  the  open 
espousal  of  the  very  opinions  he  holds,  and  he  has  nev- 
er the  generosity  or  manliness  to  say,  "  /  think  so  too.'* 
Nay,  more  ;  by  the  course  he  pursues,  he  is  made  to 
cast  his  stone,  or  he  holds  it  in  his  hand,  at  least,  and 


166  MORAL    EXPOSURES 

lets  another  arm  apply  the  force  necessary  to  cast  it, 
at  the  very  men,  who  are  suffering  a  sort  of  martyr- 
dom for  his  own  faith  ! 

I  am  not  now  advocating  any  particular  opinions. 
I  am  only  advocating  a  manly  freedom  in  the  expres- 
sion of  those  opinions,  which  a  man  does  entertain. 
And  if  those  opinions  are  unpopular,  I  hold  that,  in 
this  country,  there  is  so  much  the  more  need  of  an 
open  and  independent  expression  of  them.  Look  at 
the  case  most  seriously,  I  beseech  you.  What  is  ever 
to  correct  the  faults  of  society,  if  nobody  lifts  his  voice 
against  them;  if  every  body  goes  on  openly  doing 
what  every  body  privately  complains  of ;  if  all  shrink 
behind  the  faint-hearted  apology,  that  it  would  be 
over-bold  in  them  to  attempt  any  reform  ?  What  is 
to  rebuke  political  time-serving,  religious  fanaticism, 
or  social  folly,  if  no  one  has  the  independence  to  pro- 
test against  them  ?  Look  at  it  in  a  larger  view.  What 
barrier  is  there  against  the  universal  despotism  of  pub- 
lic opinion  in  this  country,  but  individual  freedom  ? 
Who  is  to  stand  up  against  it  here,  but  the  possessor 
of  that  lofty  independence?  There  is  no  king,  no 
sultan,  no  noble,  no  privileged  class  ;  nobody  else,  to 
stand  against  it.  If  you  yield  this  point,  if  you  are  for 
ever  making  compromises,  if  all  men  do  this,  if  the 
entire  policy  of  private  life  here,  is  to  escape  oppo- 
sition and  reproach,  every  thing  will  be  swept  beneath 
the  popular  wave.  There  will  be  no  individuality,  no 
hardihood,  no  high  and  stern  resolve,  no  self-subsist- 
ence, no  fearless  dignity,  no  glorious  manhood  of  mind, 
left  among  us.  The  holy  heritage  of  our  fathers'  vir- 
tues will  be  trodden  under  foot,  by  their  unworthy 
children.     They  feared  not  to  stand  up  against  kings 


OP    AMEKK  "VX    SOCIETY.  167 

and  nobles,  and  parliament  and  people.  Better  did 
they  account  it,  that  their  lonely  bark  should  sweep 
the  wide  sea  in  freedom — happier  were  they,  when 
their  sail  swelled  to  the  storm  of  winter,  than  to  be 
slaves  in  palaces  of  ease.  Sweeter  to  their  ear  was 
the  music  of  the  gale,  that  shrieked  in  their  broken 
cordage,  than  the  voice  at  home  that  said,  "  submit, 
and  you  shall  have  rest."  And  when  they  reached 
this  wild  shore,  and  built  their  altar,  and  knelt  upon 
the  frozen  snow  and  the  flinty  rock  to  worship,  they 
built  that  altar  to  freedom,  to  individual  freedom,  to 
freedom  of  conscience  and  opinion ;  and  their  noble 
prayer  was,  that  their  children  might  be  thus  free. 
Let  their  sons  remember  the  prayer  of  their  extremity, 
and  the  great  bequest  which  their  magnanimity  has 
left  us.  Let  them  beware  how  they  become  entan- 
gled again  in  the  yoke  of  bondage.  Let  the  ministers 
at  God's  altar,  let  the  guardians  of  the  press,  let  all 
sober  and  thinking  men,  speak  the  thought  that  is  in 
them.  It  is  better  to  speak  honest  error,  than  to  sup- 
press conscious  truth.  Smothered  error  is  more  dan- 
gerous than  that  which  flames  and  burns  out.  But 
do  I  speak  of  danger  ?  I  know  of  but  one  thing  safe 
in  the  universe,  and  that  is  truth.  And  I  know  of  but 
one  way  to  truth  for  an  individual  mind,  and  that  is, 
unfettered  thought.  And  I  know  but  one  path  for  the 
multitude  to  truth,  and  that  is,  thought,  freely  ex- 
pressed. Make  of  truth  itself  an  altar  of  slavery,  and 
guard  it  about  with  a  mysterious  shrine  ;  bind  thought 
as  a  victim  upon  it ;  and  let  the  passions  of  the  preju- 
diced multitude  minister  fuel  ;  and  you  sacrifice  upon 
that  accursed  altar,  the  hopes  of  the  world  ! 

Why  is  it,  in  fact,  that  the  tone  of  morality  in  the 


169  MORAL    EXPOSURES. 

high  places  of  society,  is  so  lax  and  complaisant,  but 
for  want  of  the  independent  and  indignant  rebuke  of 
society  ?  There  is  reproach  enough  poured  upon  the 
drunkenness,  debauchery  and  dishonesty  of  the  poor 
man.  The  good  people  who  go  to  him  can  speak 
plainly — ay,  very  plainly,  of  his  evil  ways.  Why  is 
it,  then,  that  fashionable  vice  is  able  to  hold  up  its 
head,  and  sometimes  to  occupy  the  front  ranks  of  so- 
ciety ?  It  is  because  respectable  persons,  of  hesitating 
and  compromising  virtue,  keep  it  in  countenance.  It 
is  because  timid  woman  stretches  out  her  hand  to  the 
man  whom  she  knows  to  be  the  deadliest  enemy  of 
morality  and  of  her  sex,  while  she  turns  a  cold  eye 
upon  the  victims  he  has  ruined.  It  is  because  there 
is  nobody  to  speak  plainly  in  cases  like  these.  And 
do  you  think  that  society  is  ever  to  be  regenerated 
or  purified  under  the  influence  of  these  unjust  and 
pusillanimous  compromises?  I  tell  you  never.  So 
long  as  vice  is  suffered  to  be  fashionable  and  respect- 
able— so  long  as  hien  are  bold  to  condemn  it  only 
when  it  is  clothed  in  rags,  there  will  never  be  any 
radical  improvement.  You  may  multiply  Temperance 
Societies,  and  Moral  Reform  Societies  ;  you  may  pile 
up  statute  books  of  laws  against  gambling  and  dis- 
honesty ;  but  so  long  as  the  timid  homages  of  the  fair 
and  honored  are  paid  to  splendid  iniquity,  it  will  be 
all  in  vain.  So  long  will  it  be  felt,  that  the  voice  of 
the  world  is  not  against  the  sinner,  but  against  the 
sinner's  garb.  And  so  long,  every  weapon  of  associa- 
tion, and  every  batoon  of  office,  will  be  but  a  missile 
feather  against  the  Leviathan,  that  is  wallowing  in  the 
low  marshes  and  stagnant  pools  of  society. 

Would  that  the  world  were  changed,  we  say  ;  but 


OP    AMERICAN     SOCIETY.  1G9 

how  is  it  to  be  changed  ?  Would  that  the  evils  and 
vices  of  society  were  done  away  ;  but  how  are  they 
to  be  done  away  ?  Whence  is  the  power  to  come  ? 
I  answer.  One  fearless  voice — that  of  Luther — broke 
up  the  spiritual  despotism  of  centuries.  One  fearless 
voice  in  England — that  of  Hampden — shook  the 
throne  of  corruption  to  its  base.  Any  one  human  arm, 
lifted  up  in  indignant  rebuke,  is  clothed  by  the  power 
of  God,  with  all-conquering  might.  The  popular 
mind  ever  wants  leaders.  The  people  want  that  some 
one  should  interpret  the  voice  that  is  in  them — should 
speak  the  commanding  word  that  marshals  the  hosts 
of  society  to  the  work  of  reform.  If  there  shall  be 
no  such  voices  in  this  country,  no  lofty  seers,  no  stern 
prophets — if  all  shall  basely  seek  to  lose  themselves  in 
the  multitude  ;  then  shall  the  sluggish  wave  of  mean 
mediocrity  and  slavish  acquiescence  roll  over  the  land, 
giving  birth  to  broods  of  serpents  and  reptiles,  and  it 
shall  only  fatten  the  soil  for  some  other  and  future  em- 
pire, of  more  generous  freedom  and  more  magnani- 
mous virtue.  So  sunk  the  glorious  land  of  Grecian 
liberty,  when  nothing  but  cowering  flattery  would  suit 
the  people ;  temples  and  statues  and  thrones  went 
down,  bemired  and  trodden  under  the  feet  of  its 
"  fierce"  and  flattered  "democracies ;"  and  the  vision  of 
Plato's  republic  lingers  only  as  a  bright  dream  upon  its 
beautiful  shores.  If  that  vision  or  any  part  of  it  is  ev- 
er to  be  realized  here,  there  must  be  a  genial  confi- 
dence and  warmth  breathed  into  the  soul  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  there  must  be  a  noble  simplicity  and  self-respect 
free  from  all  base  discontents ;  and  there  must  be  a 
lofty  magnanimity  free  from  all  time-serving  and  slav- 
ish fear. 

15 


'170 


DISCOURSE  VII 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 


GALATIANS  V.  1.     And  be  not  entangled  again  with 

THE  YOKE  OF  BONDAGE. 

In  the  close  of  my  last  discourse,  I  considered  the 
tendency  of  a  controlling  public  opinion  to  abridge 
private  and  personal  independence.  The  subject  ap- 
pears to  me  of  such  importance,  that  I  am  induced  to 
resume  the  discussion  of  it.  The  general  effect  of 
public  opinion,  otherwise  sufficiently  great,  is  increas- 
ed, I  believe,  to  an  unsuspected  extent,  by  the  princi- 
ple of  association :  and  it  is  this,  which  I  wish  particu- 
larly to  consider  in  the  present  discourse. 

I  have  lately  ventured  to  say  that  the  great  danger 
to  our  national  character  is,  that  of  wanting  personal, 
individual  independence — independence  of  mind  ;  and 
I  have  once,  in  another  form  of  communication  to  the 
public,  expressed  the  opinion,  that  "there  is  less  pri- 
vate and  social  freedom  in  America,  than  there  is  in 
Europe." 

A  striking  confirmation  of  these  views  I  have  lately 
met  with,  in  the  intelligent  French  traveller,  de  Tocque- 
ville  ;  a  man  remarkably  qualified  by  previous  study, 
by  singular  candor,  and  by  a  thorough  investigation  of 


ON    ASSOCIATION*.  171 

the  subject,  to  write  on  this  country.  "  I  am  not  ac- 
quainted," he  says,  "with  any  country,  in  which  there 
is  so  little  true  independence  of  mind,  and  so  little  free- 
dom of  discussion,  as  in  America.  The  authority  of  a 
king,"  he  continues,  "is  purely  physical;  it  controls 
the  actions  of  the  subject  without  subduing  his  private 
will ;  but  the  majority  in  America  is  invested  with  a 
power,  which  is  physical  and  moral  at  the  same  time ; 
it  acts  upon  the  will,  as  well  as  upon  the  actions  of 
men,  and  represses  not  only  all  contest,  but  all  contro- 
versy." 

Though  the  result  is  too  strongly  expressed,  espe- 
cially in  the  last  clause  of  this  passage,  yet  the  ten- 
dency is  unquestionable  ;  and  it  being  so,  I  hold  that 
public  opinion  is  more  than  sufficiently  strong,  without 
any  artificial  aids  or  arrangements  to  give  it  greater 
power.  That  the  majority  shall  rule,  is  the  chosen 
and  comprehensive  principle  that  lies  at  the  founda- 
tion of  our  political  institutions.  Under  such  an  ad- 
ministration of  things,  there  is  no  reason  to  fear  that 
public  opinion  will  be  too  weak  ;  that  majorities  will 
be  too  timid  and  scrupulous.  On  the  contrary,  the 
danger  is,  that  individuals  will  lose  all  courage  and 
independence  ;  that  all  individual  opinion  will  be 
merged  in  prevailing  opinion ;  that  intellect  and  vir- 
tue together  will  sink  to  an  all-levelling  tameness  and 
mediocrity.  The  danger,  I  repeat,  however  little  it 
may  have  been  anticipated  or  suspected,  is,  that  the 
very  principle  of  our  freedom — the  rule  of  majorities 
— will  "  entangle  us  again  with  the  yoke  of  bondage." 
In  such  circumstances  I  insist,  that  all  artificial  aids 
and  arrangements  which  give  force  to  public  opinion, 
are  to  be  looked  upon  with  jealousy,  and  that  their 


172  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

efforts  are  to  be  guarded  against,  on  the  part  of  indi- 
viduals, with  strenuous  resistance.  And  by  artificial 
arrangements,  I  mean  all  those  parties,  sects  and  asso- 
ciations, whose  tendency  it  is  to  invade  or  abridge 
personal  freedom. 

But  it  is  necessary,  before  I  proceed  farther,  to  say 
something  definitely  of  the  principle  of  association  ;  to 
say,  in  other  words,  how  far  and  for  what  reasons  it 
is  to  be  resisted  or  restrained. 

That  principle  has  had,  in  this  country,  a  most  ex- 
traordinary development.  It  is  the  very  country  of 
parties,  sects  and  societies.  But  to  consider  the  latter 
particularly,  as  being  most  remarkable  ;  it  would 
seem  as  if  nothing  could  be  done  in  this  country  but 
by  societies  ;  and  wo  to  the  man,  claiming  any  place 
among  the  good  men  of  the  country,  who  thinks  to 
escape  them  !  Wo  to  him  who  thought  to  stand 
apart  and  aloof,  and  to  go  to  his  grave,  quietly  and 
alone  !  Some  society  will  be  certain  to  find  and  fer- 
ret him  out,  and  bring  him  into  the  great  trained  bands 
of  benevolence,  that  are  spreading  themselves  over  the 
country. 

It  would  be  curious,  if  not  useful,  to  inquire  into  the 
causes  of  this  singular  social  movement  of  the  country. 
It  arises  in  part,  doubtless,  from  the  popular  character 
of  our  institutions.  It  has  been  the  fashion  abroad,  for 
governments  to  do  every  thing  for  the  people.  It  is 
the  tendency  of  our  political  forms  to  make  the  people 
do  every  thing  for  themselves.  Besides,  the  pervading 
intellectual  activity  of  this  country,  leads  the  people  to 
take  an  interest  in  every  thing  that  is  going  forward, 
which  is  not  found  to  an  equal  extent,  in  any  other. 
This  interest,  perhaps,  naturally  expresses  itself  in  as* 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  173 

sociations  ;  since  associated  action  is  obviously  more 
powerful  than  any  other  mode  of  operation.  But  I 
am  inclined  to  think,  that  the  very  trait  of  national 
character,  on  which  I  have  lately  commented,  has  had 
something  to  do  with  the  multiplicity  of  our  associa- 
tions. They  enable  the  individual  to  shrink  from  re- 
sponsibility, and  to  lose  himself  in  the  crowd.  They 
are  convenient  intrenchments  to  shelter  the  timid  and 
faint-hearted.  If  a  man  wishes  to  advocate  or  ad- 
vance an  unpopular  measure,  and  has  not  moral 
strength  enough  to  stand  alone,  a  society  offers  to  him 
the  very  resource  he  wants  ;  then  there  is  a  body  of 
associates  to  lean  upon,  and  to  divide  with  him  the 
risk  and  opprobrium. 

And  yet  I  do  not  deny  that  societies  have  their  use ; 
and  I  am  inclined  to  say,  that  it  is  in  this  very  emer- 
gency that  they  have  their  use  and  scope.  An  un- 
popular opinion  or  doctrine  may  well  gather  its  friends 
about  it,  if  it  has  any.  An  aggrieved  minority  may 
well  associate  for  its  own  defence.  It  is  the  very 
policy  of  our  social  condition  to  give  to  remonstrance, 
strength.  But  the  same  policy  requires  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  association  should  be  limited  by  that  consider- 
ation. If  this  were  a  proper  subject  for  legislation, 
and  the  power  of  enacting  such  a  rule  were  given  me, 
I  would  cause  every  association,  whose  object  it  is  to 
operate  upon  public  opinion,  to  die  the  moment  it 
reached  the  point  of  predominant  influence  ;  success 
should  dissolve  it.  Public  opinion  wants  no  such  aid 
to  make  it  strong.     It  is  too  strong  already. 

But  we  must  further  distinguish.  There  are  socie- 
ties whose  main  purpose  is  to  produce  an  effect  upon 
public  opinion.  Such  were  the  anti-masonic,  and  are 
15* 


174  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

now,  the  temperance  and  abolition  societies  ;  and  such 
are  all  political  associations  and  parties.  Upon  all 
such  combinations,  I  should  look  with  jealousy.  In 
this  remark,  I  do  not  intend  to  pronounce  any  judgment 
upon  their  particular  objects.  I  might  approve  of  them, 
but  I  should  be  on  that  account  none  the  less  jealous 
of  their  tendency,  when  successful,  to  narrow  and  en- 
slave the  minds  of  individuals.  Then,  again,  there  are 
other  associations,  whose  object  is  charity,  or  to  do 
some  good  work  ;  such  as  bible,  tract,  missionary  and 
relief  societies  of  various  sorts.  With  regard  to  these, 
it  appears  to  me,  that  a  different  judgment  is  to  be  en- 
tertained. Their  object  being  simply  charitable,  is  so 
far  unexceptionable,  let  it  be  carried  as  far  as  it  will. 
But  this  I  should  say,  that  while  their  success  is  no 
ground  for  apprehension,  while  their  success,  to  almost 
any  assignable  extent  is  to  be  desired,  their  coercive 
influence  upon  individual  minds  is  no  less  to  be  guarded 
against. 

In  fine,  I  do  not  say  that  societies,  as  societies,  are 
to  be  opposed.  Were  it  even  desirable,  it  is  certainly 
impossible  in  this  country  at  least,  by  any  such  weak 
means  or  arguments,  to  check  or  discourage  the  spirit 
of  association.  It  is  in  the  very  air  about  us,  ready  to 
come  at  every  call,  and  to  take  some  new  form  every 
day  ;  and  no  power,  at  our  command,  can  exorcise  it. 
This  is  all,  then,  that  I  say,  and  this  is  the  ground  I 
take  ;  that  all  societies  ought  to  beware  how  they  un- 
duly press  their  influence  upon  individual  minds,  and 
that  every  individual  is  to  be  exhorted  to  guard  his 
freedom  against  them :  to  be  exhorted,  not,  indeed,  to 
withhold  his  countenance  and  aid,  but  to  limit  them 
exactly  to  his  independent  convictions.     He  is  to  be 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  175 

warned,  I  say,  not  against  liberality,  but  against  bon- 
dage, and  societies  are  to  be  warned  against  imposing  it. 

Some  of  the  cases  in  which  this  injury  is  both  done 
and  suffered,  it  shall  now  be  my  business  to  point  out ; 
and  then  I  shall  proceed  to  consider  their  general  in- 
fluence upon  the  intellect  and  virtue  of  society. 

Thus  with  regard  to  the  cases — when  a  political 
party  says  to  its  members,  "  You  shall  support  every 
thing,  and  oppose  nothing,  that  is  done  among  us,  or 
else,  expect  no  favor  or  office  at  our  hands,"  what  is 
this  but  an  enactment  in  a  code  of  slavery  ?  And 
what  can  its  legitimate  effect  be,  but  to  make  slaves  ? 
Doubtless,  a  man  may  honestly  and  honorably  attach 
himself  to  some  particular  doctrine  in  politics  ;  and  on 
that  basis,  a  party  may  be  formed  ;  and  if  the  party 
confined  itself  to  the  support  of  that  or  similar,  or  as- 
sociated doctrines,  or  of  any  doctrines  in  fact,  all  might 
be  well.  There  would  not  necessarily  be  any  bon- 
dage in  such  an  adherence  to  party.  But  the  evil  is, 
that  the  little  circle  of  individual  and  independent  opin- 
ions, which  at  first  was  calmly  gathering  and  slowly 
revolving  about  its  proper  centre,  soon  increases  to  a 
whirlwind,  and  raises  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  takes  up 
straws  and  rubbish  in  its  course,  and  sweeps  every 
thing  in  its  train.  A  man  finds  himself,  ere  long,  mix- 
ed up  with  the  agitated  and  irregular  action  of  many 
things  altogether  irrelevant  to  the  original  questions. 
If  it  were  only  a  certain  measure  or  set  of  measures, 
that  he  was  pledged  to  support,  he  might  be  free, 
Therein  he  might  act  upon  his  own  independent  opinion. 
But  he  soon  finds  that  other  questions  and  interests  are 
thrust  into  the  case ;  that  he  must  help  to  compass 
party  ends  ;  and  hardest  of  all,  that  he  must  support 


176  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

party  leaders.  Folly  must  become  wisdom  to  him,  if 
it  is  found  in  the  party  idol ;  every  political  vice,  a 
virtue  ;  incapacity,  honest,  homely  sense,  unpractised 
in  the  tricks  of  office  ;  intrigue,  prudence  ;  sycophan- 
cy to  the  multitude,  the  love  of  the  people  ;  the  most 
tortuous  policy,  straight-forward  integrity.  Let  it  not 
be  thought  that  I  overdraw  the  picture.  If  any  man 
will  think  to  be  independent  of  these  considerations, 
let  him  try  it.  Let  him  dare  to  say,  what,  if  he  has 
any  sense  or  candor,  it  is  probable  that  he  honestly 
thinks ;  let  him  say,  that  although  he  approves  the 
general  object  of  his  party,  there  are  some  of  its  meas- 
ures that  he  cannot  approve,  and  some  of  its  men,  that 
he  will  not  support.  Let  him  do  this ;  and  he  will 
find  that  the  batteries  of  an  hundred  presses  are  im- 
mediately opened  upon  him.  He  is  denounced  as  a 
false  friend,  a  spy  in  the  camp  ;  he  could  hardly  be  a 
worse  man,  if  he  meditated  treason  to  his  party,  or  to 
his  country  ;  and  the  end  of  this  experiment  on  party 
toleration  is,  that  he  is  flung  off,  and  left  to  struggle 
alone,  in  the  wake  of  the  great  ship,  that  has  borne, 
his  friends  to  their  haven. 

With  regard  to  those  great  associations,  denomina- 
ted religious  sects,  I  fear  that  the  case  involves  no  less 
peril  to  the  mental  independence  of  our  people.  I 
allow,  that  the  multiplicity  of  sects  in  this  country,  is 
some  bond  for  their  mutual  forbearance  and  freedom. 
But  the  strength  and  repose  of  a  great  establishment 
are,  in  some  respects,  more  favorable  to  private  lib- 
erty. If  less  favor  is  shown  to  those  without,  there  is 
usually  more  liberality  to  those  within  it.  It  is  in  the 
protected  soil  of  great  establishments,  that  the  germs 
of  every  great  reform  in  the  church  have  quietly  taken 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  177 

root.  For  myself,  if  I  were  ever  to  permit  my  liberty 
to  be  compromised  by  such  considerations,  I  would 
rather  take  my  chance  in  the  bosom  of  a  great  na- 
tional religion,  than  amidst  the  jealous  eyes  of  small 
and  contending  sects.  And  I  think  it  will  be  found, 
that  a  more  liberal  and  catholic  theology  has  always 
pervaded  establishments,  than  the  bodies  of  dissenters 
from  them.  Nay,  I  much  doubt,  whether  intolerance 
itself,  in  such  countries — in  England  and  Germany, 
for  instance — has  ever  gone  to  that  length  of  Jewish 
and  Samaritan  exclusion,  that  has  sometimes  been  wit- 
nessed among  us. 

In  saying  this,  I  am  not  the  enemy  of  dissent.  Nor 
do  I  deny  that  it  is  often  the  offspring  of  freedom.  It 
certainly  is  the  usual  condition  of  progress.  But  this 
I  say  ;  that  dissent  sometimes  binds  stronger  chains 
than  it  broke.  And  this  is  especially  apt  to  be  the 
case,  for  a  time,  when  several,  rival  and  contending 
sects  spring  from  the  general  freedom.  Then  the 
parent-principle  is  often  devoured  by  its  own  chil- 
dren. 

But  there  are  other  associations  to  be  noticed  in 
this  connection.  The  great  benevolent  societies  of  the 
day,  however  much  good  they  may  propose,  and  may 
actually  do,  are  liable  to  do  this  evil — to  give,  that  is 
to  say,  a  form  to  public  opinion,  which  shall  make  it 
press  too  hard  upon  individual  freedom. 

This  may  be  less  felt  in  cities.  Individuals  there, 
are  lost  in  the  crowd,  and  possess  a  certain  freedom 
in  their  comparative  insignificance.  The  many  and 
conflicting  claims  to  public  attention  in  cities,  also, 
make  each  particular  claim  to  be  less  distinct  and  im- 
posing.   And  the  heterogeneous  mass  of  mind  collected 


178  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

in  them,  enables  every  dissentient  or  opposing  opinion, 
to  draw  forth  strength  and  courage  for  its  support. 
Hence,  I  believe  it  will  be  found,  that  all  great  re- 
forms, political,  religious  or  social,  have  commenced 
in  cities.  Hence  it  is,  that  cities  have  ever  been  the 
strongholds  of  freedom ;  and  if  I  should  add,  its  cor- 
rupters also,  I  should  only  point  out  an  extension  of 
the  same  principle ;  that  is,  freedom  becomes  licentious- 
ness. And  thus  it  is,  at  this  moment,  in  our  American 
cities,  that  we  have  at  once,  more  freedom  of  mind 
and  more  licentiousness  of  opinion,  than  there  is  in 
the  country.  Still,  amidst  all  this,  there  is,  no  doubt, 
enough  and  too  much  of  bondage  among  us. 

But  if  you  would  know  how  great  associations  may 
invade  the  freedom  of  individuals,  go  with  one  of  their 
agents  to  some  retired  village  or  township  in  the  coun- 
try. His  object  is  to  form  a  Missionary,  Tract,  or 
Temperance  Society.  He  first  approaches  the  clergy- 
man, and  finds  him,  perhaps,  a  convert  already  to  the 
project.  But  if  not,  he  is  but  too  likely  to  find  in  him 
an  instance  of  timid  and  pitiable  vacillation  ;  a  person 
unwilling  to  express  that  decided  opinion,  or  that  de- 
cided doubt  about  the  plan,  that  becomes  his  place. 
Next,  the  agent,  with  or  without  the  support  of  the 
pastor,  applies  himself  to  the  church  and  the  people. 
And  here,  of  course,  there  will  be  a  certain  amount 
of  objection.  There  will  be  those  who  think  that  they 
cannot  afford  the  money  required,  or  who  prefer  some 
other  plan,  or  who-  dislike  pledges.  How  are  these 
feelings  of  objection  treated  ?  Does  the  applicant  for 
aid  respect  them?  Is  he  anxious  that  every  man 
should  act  freely,  upon  his  own  individual  and  un- 
biassed conviction  ?     Does  he  remember,  that  "  God 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  179 

lovcth  a  cheerful  giver,"  and  no  other  ?  How  much 
more  likely  is  he  to  bring  the  whole  weight  of  public 
opinion  to  bear  upon  the  case  ;  to  content  himself,  if 
he  can  wring  forth  reluctant  assent !  His  own  repu- 
tation is,  in  a  measure,  involved.  A  society  of  ten  or 
twenty  will  not  satisfy  him.  It  is  very  likely  that 
these  are  the  only  numbers,  which,  on  any  new  propo- 
sition, would  justly  express  the  state  of  the  public 
mind ;  but  these  will  not  content  him.  He  wants  an 
hundred  members.  He  would  fain  press  men  into  the 
cause.  Even  if  this  were  not  the  case,  if  he  were  ever 
so  scrupulous  about  the  motives  he  employed,  yet  the 
bare  fact,  that  he  comes  backed  by  the  example  of  a 
thousand  villages,  of  almost  the  entire  country  in 
fact,  will  be  likely  to  leave  little  enough  freedom 
among  the  people  he  addresses.  Shall  they  stand  up 
against  the  whole  world  ?  Shall  all  be  darkness  and 
death  among  them,  while  all  is  life  and  brightness 
around  them  ?  What  a  sad  report  to  go  forth  among 
the  churches,  that  no  Missionary  Society,  no  Tract 
Society,  no  Temperance  Society,  could  be  formed 
there  ?  What  will  people  think  of  that  congregation, 
or  of  its  pastor  ?  What  can  they  think,  but  that  they 
are  all  sunk  in  spiritual  death,  or  else  are  opposed  to 
all  truth  and  righteousness  ?  This  will  not  do.  There 
must  be  a  society.  They  cannot  go  on  without  one. 
I  am  not  denying,  of  course,  that  better  feelings  have 
their  share  in  the  result ;  but  I  wish  to  show  you,  how 
liable  these  bad,  unworthy  and  slavish  feelings  are  to 
have  place  in  it. 

But  I  need  not  confine  myself,  in  this  survey,  to  any 
locality.  Every  one  must  be  aware  that,  with  regard 
to  several  of  the  great  moral  enterprises  of  the  day, 


180  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

there  is,  in  this  country,  a  considerable  mass  of  dis- 
sent. Take,  for  instance,  the  Temperance  Reform.  I 
have  no  doubt,  that  I  might  express  the  opinion  of  a 
multitude  of  sober  and  reflecting  men  in  the  country, 
in  terms  like  these  ;  "  that  there  was,  indeed,  great  and 
crying  need  of  this  reform  ;  that  the  evil  was  one  of 
tremendous  magnitude  ;  that  it  was  meet,  the  whole 
country  should  be  aroused  to  its  danger;  that  a 
pledge  of  abstinence  might  have  been  advisable  as  a 
temporary  expedient,  to  give  form  and  force  to  that 
strong  protest,  which  was  rising  in  the  public  mind ; 
but  that  the  pledge,  as  it  has  actually  been  framed,  is 
based  upon  a  false  principle ;  that  what  the  temper- 
ance reformers  say,  when  they  assert,  that  it  is  a  sin 
per  se  to  take  any  substance  or  liquid  in  which  alco- 
hol is  mingled,  is  not  true  ;  that  it  is  altogether  an  un- 
warrantable and  mischievous  refining  upon  the  case, 
so  to  state  the  doctrine  of  temperance ;  that  there  is 
alcohol  in  every  thing,  as  there  is  an  exciting  quality 
in  every  thing,  even  in  the  simplest  food  ;  that  gluttony 
is  as  bad  as  intemperance,  though  not  so  common, 
but  that  it  does  not  follow  that  men  should  not  eat ; 
that  the  proscription  of  wine,  and  the  sacrilegious  and 
most  gratuitous  disputes  about  the  use  of  that  ele- 
ment in  the  Lord's  supper,  are  really  as  legitimate  as 
they  are  hurtful  inferences  from  a  false  principle — be- 
cause, if  alcohol  may  not  be  drank,  then  wine  may  not 
be  drank,  and  if  it  is  a  sin  to  drink  wine,  then  it  ought 
not  to  be  used  in  the  Communion  ;  and,  finally,  that 
no  good  is  ultimately  to  be  expected,  but  only  a  sad 
reaction  from  the  propagation  of  any  error.  Warn 
the  public  mind,"  they  would  say,  "alarm  it  as  much 
as  possible  ;  but  do  this  by  legitimate  considerations  ; 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  161 

none  other  are  needed,  and  none  other  can  do  any 
eventual  good."  There  are  many,  I  say,  who  entertain 
these  views ;  but  where,  I  had  almost  said,  is  the  speech, 
sermon  or  newspaper,  that  has  ever  given  one  single 
solitary  expression  to  them  ?  And  the  consequence 
has  been,  that  the  Temperance  Reform  has  gone  on 
without  that  open  and  frank  opposition  to  keep  it  ju- 
dicious and  right,  which  is  necessary  to  all  human  ac- 
tion, to  every  government,  to  every  mind  in  fact,  and 
therefore,  especially,  to  every  heterogeneous  and  irre- 
sponsible association. 

Every  great  association,  if  it  were  wise,  would  wel- 
come an  honest,  intellectual,  argumentative  opposition. 
This  is  precisely  what  it  wants  to  preserve  it  from 
that  extavagance,  to  which  the  fervor  and  confidence 
of  united  action  are  ever  apt  to  lead.  But  the  evil  is, 
that  every  such  association,  in  proportion  as  it  grows 
strong,  silences  remonstrance.  It  is  not  here  as  in 
politics,  where  interest  insures  an  opposition.  Men 
feel  no  immediate  interest  in  resisting  any  enterprise 
of  a  moral  nature  ;  and  therefore,  they  are  apt  to 
content  themselves  with  expressing  their  objections  in 
private,  and  they  leave  the  multitude  to  rush  on  with- 
out control.  But  I  predict  that  the  day  will  come, 
when  reflecting  men  will  find,  if  they  would  preserve 
any  personal  influence  or  independence,  that  they  have 
a  duty  to  perform,  widely  at  variance  with  their  present 
supine  indifference  or  shrinking  timidity.  Nay,  to 
some,  has  not  the  time  already  come  ?  Have  you  nev- 
er known  a  man  in  the  country,  of  somewhat  conspic- 
uous standing,  of  unexceptionable  morals  and  many 
virtues,  but  who  gave  nothing  to  missionary  societies, 
nothing  to  tract  societies,  nothing  to  education  socie- 

16 


182  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

ties,  and  who  would  sign  no  pledges  to  temperance 
associations,  or  to  associations  for  promoting  the  ob- 
servance of  the  Sabbath  ?  What  is  the  position  of 
that  man  in  his  neighborhood  ?  Why,  he  is  "  a  great 
opposer :" — brief,  but  significant  and  comprehensive 
phrase,  which  none  but  they  who  have  observed  its 
effect,  can  understand.  It  draws  a  mysterious  circle 
around  its  object ;  the  very  children  of  the  neighbor- 
hood come  to  regard  him  as  a  strange  and  bad  man — 
they  know  not  why ;  he  is  cut  off  from  the  sympathies 
of  the  wTorld  around  him ;  kept  aloof,  (and  well  if  he 
is  not  made  a  misanthrope) — mentioned  to  strangers 
with  disparagement ;  prayed  for  in  meetings ;  and 
sent  to  his  grave,  unblessed,  lonely,  and  perhaps,  sad 
at  heart.  His  very  family,  it  may  be,  and  especially, 
the  female  members  of  it,  who  are  more  susceptible  to 
the  influence  of  public  opinion,  are  brought  over  to  the 
side  of  distrust  and  suspicion.  Stand  up  for  him,  fair 
ministers  at  the  altar  of  domestic  love,  and  sacrifice 
him  not  on  that  altar  !  I  am  not  now  saying,  that  the 
principles  he  has  adopted  with  regard  to  societies  is 
right ;  but  this  I  do  say,  that  for  public  sentiment  to 
visit  upon  him  such  calamities  for  his  dissent,  is  an  in- 
sufferable presumption,  and  ought  to  bring  the  power 
of  associations  under  the  most  jealous  watch  of  a  free 
people. 

But  there  are  other  dangers,  besides  that  of  produ- 
cing individual  suffering  and  bondage,  which  should 
lead  us  carefully  to  guard  against  the  uncontrolled  in- 
fluence and  tendency  of  associations. 

And  here  I  must  desire  you  to  observe,  that  it  is 
not  against  associations  as  such,  that  I  am  directing 
these  observations,  nor  against  them  altogether.     It  is 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  183 

with  no  hostility  to  societies,  that  I  am  pointing  out 
some  of  their  incidental  effects  upon  the  public  mind. 
The  best  things  are  liable,  by  abuse,  or  by  an  over- 
sight of  their  injurious  tendencies,  to  become  the 
worst ;  and  this  because  they  are  the  best ;  because 
they  win  unbounded  confidence.  Moral  associations 
are  such  good  things — they  are  so  humane  and  benev- 
olent, they  engage  such  pious  and  excellent  people  in 
their  measures,  that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  think  any 
evil  of  them.  So,  also,  is  public  opinion  a  good  thing. 
An  enlightened  public  opinion  is  to  do  more,  perhaps, 
than  any  other  agent,  except  truth  itself,  to  reform  the 
world.  But  still  it  is  obvious,  that  this  same  power 
may,  in  certain  circumstances,  become  an  instrument 
of  bondage.  That  it  is  liable  to  be  such  in  this  coun- 
try, I  think,  will  scarcely  be  denied.  I  say,  then,  that 
it  is  not  against  associations  as  such,  but  against  asso- 
ciations, as  auxiliaries  of  a  public  opinion  already  too 
strong,  that  I  would  put  you  on  your  guard.  I  have 
said,  that  public  opinion  is  like  the  atmosphere,  sur- 
rounding and  pressing  upon  every  man  in  the  country. 
Associations  may  be  compared  to  the  atmosphere  put 
in  motion.  They  sweep  across  a  country  like  the 
trade- winds  or  monsoons.  Nay,  and  it  may  be  the 
sun  of  truth,  pouring  its  rays  upon  a  certain  portion 
of  the  firmament,  that  sets  in  motion  those  trade-winds 
of  society,  associations.  It  is  the  sun  of  truth,  I  think, 
that  has  set  in  motion  the  moral  elements  of  the  aboli- 
tion societies  ;  and  yet  they  may  rise  and  swell,  till 
they  bring  wrreck  and  ruin  upon  the  dearest  interests 
of  the  country.  I  say  it  was  the  sun  of  truth,  and  I 
will  explain  my  meaning.  The  abolition  societies  be- 
gan, I  believe,  in  a  just  and  generous  impulse.     It  is 


184  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

true,  that  human  beings  ought  not  to  be  bought  or 
sold,  or  held  in  bondage.  The  only  question  is,  about 
a  practicable  and  wise  measure  of  relief,  from  the  evil 
and  wrong  that  is  done.  But  not  only  have  abolition- 
ists failed,  in  my  opinion,  to  offer  any  such  measure  ; 
but,  what  it  particularly  falls  in  with  my  design  to  ob- 
serve is,  that  the  excitement,  if  it  increases,  threatens 
to  be  one  of  the  most  alarming  character.  You  per- 
ceive, already,  how  fearfully  it  is  mixing  itself  up  with 
the  politics  of  the  country. 

Indeed,  this  is  one  of  the  general  dangers  which  I 
was  about  to  notice.  Every  association  among  us, 
and  especially,  every  one  that  is  designed  to  operate 
upon  public  opinion,  is  liable  to  take  on  a  political 
character.  It  may  begin  in  a  very  simple  intention  ; 
it  may  be  conducted  for  a  while  with  great  singleness 
of  purpose  ;  but  ere  long,  it  is  likely  to  feel  the  im- 
pulse, which,  in  this  country,  is  hurrying  every  thing 
to  the  ballot-box.  That  is  the  real  source  of  power ; 
and  honest  men,  who  find  themselves  unable  speedily 
enough  to  accomplish  their  purposes  by  any  other 
means,  may  be  so  far  wrested  from  their  simplicity, 
as  to  be  willing  to  bring  their  cause  to  that  dangerous 
ordeal.  Or  even  if  they  retain  their  simplicity,  ele- 
ments may  mingle  with  their  enterprise,  which  they 
did  not  seek  ;  and  they  may  discover  at  last,  that,  in 
the  array  of  their  numbers,  they  have  only  raised  up 
an  army,  convenient  and  ready  to  the  hand  of  some 
artful  demagogue.  The  party  leader  will  smile  in 
himself  at  their  zeal,  and  use  their  services ;  and  they 
will  find,  like  the  Independents  and  Round-heads  in 
the  time  of  the  second  Charles,  that  they  have  been 
deceived  and  betrayed. 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  185 

Another  danger  from  the  sway  of  public  opinion, 
and  especially,  of  associations  is  that  of  narrowing 
and  prostrating  the  intellect  of  the  country.  It  has 
been  maintained  by  a  modern  French  historian,*  that 
the  free  action  and  rapid  progress  of  the  body  of  the 
people,  is  unfavorable  to  the  production  of  great  men  ; 
that  the  nurturing  of  great  minds  needs  leisure,  repose, 
a  fixed  order  of  things,  freeing  them  from  the  distrac- 
tion of  surrounding  events.  This  opinion,  though  it  ob- 
viously requires  many  qualifications,  has  a  certain  plaus- 
ibility ;  and  it  suggests  the  inquiry,  whether  the  ratio 
of  individual  greatness  among  us,  has  not  decreased 
with  the  general  advancement  of  society.  One  thing, 
at  any  rate,  is  certain,  that  mind  cannot  grow  but  in 
freedom.  It  must  be  bold,  fearless,  independent,  or  it 
cannot  rise.  But  the  tendency  of  an  overwhelming  pub- 
lic opinion,  is  to  make  it  timid  and  time-serving.  The 
multiplicity  of  associations  increases  this  effect.  It  mul- 
tiplies the  questions  on  which  it  is  dangerous  or  disa- 
greeable to  speak  plainly.  One  can  scarcely  speak  on 
any  subject  now,  but  there  is  some  adherent  of  some 
society  or  some  party  present,  to  be  wounded  or  of- 
fended by  his  freedom.  Really,  we  are  tempted  to  say, 
that  something  must  be  done,  some  compact  formed, 
some  new  freedom  obtained  in  society  ;  or  all  liberty  of 
general  conversation  will  sink  into  whispers  and  innu- 
endoes. Besides,  associations  naturally  tend,  not  only  to 
restrain  general  freedom  of  mind,  but  to  narrow  and 
contract  the  views  of  their  votaries.  Opinion  natu- 
turally  loses  expansion  and  freedom  amidst  the  action 
and  pressure  of  an  association.     A  pledge,  or  a  test, 

♦Ouizot. 

16* 


186  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

must  be  brief  and  general ;  and  is  likely  to  sacrifice 
truth  as  well  as  freedom,  in  the  cautious  and  politic 
terms  with  which  it  must  be  announced.  Associations 
are  scarce  likely  to  be  the  school  of  philosophy ;  still 
less  of  a  philosophical  spirit.  A  votary  is  apt  to  think 
that  there  is  no  plan  like  his  plan.  Every  plan  must 
yield  to  it ;  all  means  flow  to  it,  all  voices  be  secured 
for  it.  He  would  gladly  forestall  all  that  ministers  to 
the  decoration  of  life,  and  turn  it  into  his  treasury, 
lie  will  not  look  with  a  wide  and  comprehensive  sur- 
vey upon  life,  and  see  how  many  and  varied  are  the 
means  that  contribute  to  its  welfare.  With  him  there 
is  but  one  thing  in  the  world,  and  that  is  the  Missions, 
or  the  Education  Society,  or  the  Poor's  Fund,  or  the 
Ministry  for  the  Poor. 

Finally,  there  are  moral  dangers  of  a  general  na- 
ture, arising  from  that  concentrated  action  of  public 
opinion  which  is  witnessed  in  associations.  There  is 
danger  that  virtue  will  lose  something,  and  not  a  little, 
of  its  manliness,  simplicity,  and  spontaneity  ;  that  men 
will  be  more  attentive  to  outward  appearances  than  to 
inward  qualities  ;  more  religious  than  good,  more  cor- 
rect than  virtuous,  more  charitable  than  generous,  and 
more  strict  than  pure. 

It  is  said  that  intemperance  has  decreased  in  this 
country.  Is  it  an  honest,  and  not  an  enforced  reform  ? 
Has  no  evasion,  concealment,  or  hypocrisy  resulted 
from  the  mode  in  which  this  enterprise  has  been  carri- 
ed forward  ?  The  very  history  of  the  temperance 
pledges  shows  that  there  is  such  a  danger.  At  first, 
they  contained  a  promise  of  abstinence  from  spiritu- 
ous drinks,  except  when  they  were  used  as  medicine. 
But  it  soon  appeared,  that  it  was  not  safe  to  leave  this 


OS     ASSOl  -IATIONS.  187 

qualification  in  the  hands  of  the  people  ;  and  the  pre- 
scription of  a  physician  was  required.  But  as  a  sin- 
gle prescription  of  this  kind  might  spread  license  over 
a  man's  whole  life,  it  was  found  necessary  to  restrict 
his  use  to  the  single  instance  prescribed  for.  Then, 
again,  abuses  crept  in,  under  the  disguises,  the  new 
and  false  appellations,  which  spirituous  drinks  receiv- 
ed ;  till,  at  length,  no  barrier  against  hypocrisy  could 
be  1  rained  but  an  unqualified  pledge  of  total  abstinence 
from  everything  that  can  intoxicate.  This  is  through- 
out, a  history  of  evasions  ;  and  it  should  admonish  the 
temperance  societies  to  beware  how  they  press  assent 
beyond  conviction  ;  to  beware  lest  they  make  men  the 
slaves  of  opinion,  rather  than  willing  subjects  of  the 
law  of  conscience. 

Again,  the  charities  of  our  people,  their  contribu- 
tions to  the  various  benevolent  enterprises  of  the  day, 
are  immense  and  unexampled.  I  rejoice  to  see  it. 
I  wish  they  were  doubled.  They  ought  to  be  doubled, 
at  least,  on  the  part  of  the  rich.  But  while  I  yield  my 
sympathy  and  admiration  to  the  spectacle  of  a  great 
people  rising  up  with  associated  power,  to  fulfil  its  du- 
ties to  the  poor  and  neglected,  and  to  the  heathen,  I 
cannot  help  charging  it  upon  this  people,  to  see  that  its 
charities  be  really  pure  and  generous.  I  must  con- 
fess that  I  look  with  some  doubt  and  pain,  upon  the 
moral  administration  of  this  business  of  soliciting  char- 
ities. I  fear  that  there  is  no  delicate  or  proper  regard 
paid  to  the  freedom  and  conscience  of  the  giver ;  that 
all  sorts  of  influences  are,  too  often,  unscrupulously 
brought  to  bear  on  him,  and  to  wrest  from  him  a  re- 
luctant donation.  A  great  association,  when  it  pre- 
sents itself  before  an  individual,  may  very  properly 


188  ON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

urge  upon  him  his  duties ;  but  let  it  not  urge  its  own 
authority,  or  the  universal  example  to  induce  him  to 
do  that,  which  he  is  not  in  his  own  mind  and  con- 
science prepared  and  ready  to  do.  I  once  knew  the 
agent  of  a  religious  charity  to  receive  this  answer 
from  the  person  applied  to.  "  I  shall  give,  because 
you  have  asked  me,  but  not  because  I  wish  to  give,  or 
because  I  take  any  interest  in  your  object."  "  Then, 
sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  cannot  receive  your  donation." 
The  answer  was  right.  Any  other  ground  is  degrad- 
ing both  to  the  giver  and  receiver.  But  I  fear  that 
this  is  not  the  ground  usually  taken  by  the  solicitors  of 
charity.  I  must  confess  that  I  have  never  heard  of 
another  instance,  yet,  I  would  hope,  for  the  honor  of 
our  national  liberality,  that  it  is  not  rare.  Charity  lo- 
ses all  its  sublimity  and  beauty  the  moment  it  ceases 
to  be  voluntary  and  free.  There  are  miseries  enough, 
God  knoweth,  and  man  may  see,  to  touch  our  hearts 
with  unforced  pity.  There  are  wastes  of  ignorance 
spreading  far  and  wide  ;  there  are  vices  whelming 
thousands  in  wo  and  shame  ;  there  are  victims  of  pen- 
ury and  guilt  sighing  in  ten  thousand  dwellings  all 
around  us.  Let  then  charity  stand  forward  to  relieve 
— with  pitying  heart,  and  open  hand—and  not  with  an 
iron  palm,  half  closed  by  a  feeling  baser  than  avarice, 
and  doling  out  just  so  much  as  will  maintain  its 
reputation.  Odious  gifts,  that  profane  the  name  of 
mercy !  not,  if  so  I  could  fill  a  thousand  treasuries, 
would  I  touch  one  of  them.  Dishonored  would  be  the 
very  glory  of  a  nation's  benevolence,  if  its  gifts  are  can- 
kered, if  its  fountains  are  poisoned,  by  that  taint  of  slav- 
ish homage  to  public  opinion. 

Do  you  ask,  in  fine,  why  I  lay  such  stress  on  this 


ON    ASSOCIATIONS.  189 

point — freedom  ?  This  is  my  answer ;  and  my  apolo- 
gy, if  any  be  needed,  for  occupying  so  much  attention 
with  this  point.  I  know  of  no  intellect  worth  posses- 
sing, without  freedom.  I  know  of  no  virtue  worth  the 
same,  without  freedom.  A  mind  chained,  a  virtue  en- 
forced, lose  entirely  their  proper  character.  They  are 
no  longer  mind  and  virtue.  But  mind  and  virtue  are 
the  only  enduring  treasures  of  individuals  or  of  na- 
tions. You  may  present  to  me  the  picture  of  bound- 
less physical  prosperity,  but  if  these  are  gone,  all  is 
gone.  An  iron  materialism  will  press,  like  incumbent 
fate,  upon  the  heart  of  the  nation ;  and  quench  for  ev- 
er, the  hope  and  heroism,  the  light  and  glory,  of  the 
country !  You  may  tell  me  of  free  institutions,  and 
they  may  be  your  boast ;  you  may  tell  me  of  suffrage 
and  the  ballot,  of  the  constitution  and  the  laws ;  un- 
real mockery  is  it  all,  if  there  is  not  a  free  mind  and  a 
free  heart  in  the  people  !  A  temple  of  freedom,  fair 
and  majestic  as  the  dreams  of  philosophy  or  poetry 
ever  fancied,  may  be  built  on  these  shores ;  but  if 
slaves  walk  beneath  it,  if  the  very  ministers  at  its  al- 
tars are  held  in  abject  bondage  to  those  tyrants  of  the 
spirit,  fear  and  opinion  ;  what  will  it  be  but  a  temple 
deserted  of  its  Divinity  ? — what  will  it  be,  but  the  great 
Tomb  of  Liberty  ? 


190 


DISCOURSE    VIII 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 


MARK   IX.  34.     By  the  way,  they  had  disputed  among 

THEMSELVES,  WHO  SHOULD  BE  THE  GREATEST. 

Tins  dispute  is  not  yet  ended.  And  as  Jesus  rea- 
soned with  it  in  the  case  referred  to  in  our  text,  and  in 
many  others,  so  do  I  conceive  that  this  questioning  of 
the  mind  about  worldly  distinctions,  still  needs  to  be 
reasoned  with.  Nay,  the  progress  of  modern  society, 
is  daily  furnishing  additional  occasion  for  the  argument. 

There  are,  indeed,  many  and  high  reasonings  requir- 
ed, to  meet  the  exigences  of  modern  civilization. 
Questions  concerning  governments,  concerning  the 
balance  of  political  powers,  concerning  the  rights  that 
are  to  be  acknowledged  and  the  restraints  that  are  to 
be  enforced,  are  spreading  themselves  among  all  read- 
ing and  reflecting  persons,  throughout  the  civilized 
world.  Thinking  men,  in  an  age  like  this,  must  think 
about  questions  such  as  these.  Nor  is  it  an  easy,  nor 
would  it  be  a  thankless  task  to  solve  them.  But  I 
confess  that  I  should  be  yet  more  grateful  to  him,  who 
would  answer  satisfactorily  all  the  questions  that  arise 
concerning  the  social  relationship  of  man  to  man ;  and 
who  could  effectually  teach  men  to  dwell  together,  not 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  191 

merely  as  brethren  in  equality,  but  as  brethren  in  spite 
of  inequality.  This  is,  indeed,  a  larger  theme  thai  1  I 
propose  now  to  discuss.  It  would  involve  an  inquiry 
into  the  manners  of  society,  into  the  manners  of  dif- 
ferent classes  towards  each  other,  not  only  transcend- 
ing my  present  limits,  but  requiring,  perhaps,  greater 
freedom  of  treatment  than  public  discourse  allows,  for 
its  proper  illustration. 

I  shall  invite  your  attention,  at  present,  to  a  single 
point — social  ambition  ;  and  the  spirit  with  which  its  tri- 
als are  to  be  met. 

Why,  let  us  ask,  in  the  first  place,  is  such  a  field 
opened  in  life,  for  the  display  of  this  passion  ?  Be- 
tween creatures  of  the  same  birth,  of  the  same  soul 
and  faculty,  and  especially,  of  the  same  passion  for 
the  notice  and  admiration  of  their  fellows,  why,  in  gen- 
eral, are  such  immense  distinctions  permitted  ?  Why 
is  one  clothed  with  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  why  far- 
eth  he  sumptuously  every  day,  while  his  brother-man 
sitteth  by  his  gate  in  rags  and  beggary  ?  Why  does 
one  stand  in  the  cold  shadow  of  neglect,  while  another 
passes  by,  amidst  throng  and  shout  and  festal  splendor  ? 
Why  do  such  extremes  of  power  and  weakness  present 
themselves,  in  the  form  of  our  common  humanity?  Why 
is  it  so  ordained  that  a  man,  ay,  and  many  a  man,  is 
obliged  to  say  this — "  I  am  as  industrious  and  honest,  I 
am  as  rich  and  wise  as  my  neighbor,  and  perchance,  no 
worse ;  and  yet  it  availeth  me  not ;  I  have  striven 
hard  for  a  place  in  the  world  and  in  society,  and  yet, 
mere  birth  or  connections,  or  fortuitous  fashion,  or 
clanship  social  or  political,  gives  that  to  another  which  I 
cannot  obtain  ?"  In  short,  for  natures,  craving  appro- 
bation and  regard,  and  the  visible  expression  of  those 


192  ON    SOCIAL   AMBITION. 

sentiments,  why  is  a  condition  of  things  ordained, 
which  constantly  disappoints  this  passion,  and  often 
unjustly  ? 

To  such  questioning,  I  know  it  is  common  to  reply, 
that  difference  of  situation  gives  occasion  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  various  social  virtues  ;  that  for  man,  if  there 
were  none  above  him,  there  would  be  no  call  for  rev- 
erence ;  if  none  below,  there  would  be  no  opportunity 
for  condescension  and  forbearance  ;  that  without  pow- 
er, there  could  not  be  protection,  nor  submission  with- 
out dependance  ;  that  riches  and  poverty  are  appoint- 
ed spheres,  the  one  for  generosity,  the  other  for  grati- 
tude. Now,  with  this  answer,  I  confess  I  am  not  sat- 
isfied. To  those  who  stand  in  higher  situations,  it  may, 
no  doubt,  be  very  acceptable  doctrine  ;  but  I  scarcely 
think  it  can  be,  or  ought  to  be,  very  satisfactory  to  the 
poor  or  neglected,  to  be  told  that  they  are  placed  in 
that  state,  in  order  that  they  may  learn  to  reverence 
their  superiors  ;  especially,  when  those  very  superiors 
frequently  owe  their  elevation  to  the  caprice  of  fash- 
ion, the  worldliness  of  society,  or  the  injustice. of  po- 
litical institutions.  Nor  does  this  inequality  of  the  so- 
cial condition  seem  necessary  for  the  end  stated.  Sup- 
pose that  all  men  stood  upon  a  perfect  level;  there 
would  still  be  occasion  for  reverence  and  pity,  for  gen- 
erosity and  forbearance,  for  mutual  help  and  kindness. 
Besides,  it  would  be  but  a  gross  view  of  society,  and 
a  still  grosser  view  of  our  great  and  spiritual  humani- 
ty, to  see  the  virtues  of  either,  as  chiefly  dependant 
on  a  mere  transient,  perishable  condition — as  if  noth- 
ing but  inferiority  could  inspire  a  man  with  emotions 
of  gratitude  and  admiration,  and  nothing  but  lofty 
state  could  fill  him  with  benignity  and  kindness — as 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  193 

if  a  rich  man  were  never  to  be  pitied,  and  a  poor  man 
never  to  be  envied — as  if  all  the  great  and  trying  ex- 
periences of  a  sensitive  and  suffering  nature,  were  to 
be  merged  in  the  mere  conditions  of  being  well  or  ill 
clothed,  well  or  ill  fed. 

It  may  seem  quite  unnecessary  and  useless,  to  ad- 
vert to  reasonings  such  as  I  have  now  noticed.  It  may 
be  thought  enough  to  say,  that  the  inequalities  of  the 
human  condition  result  from  the  very  attributes  of  hu- 
man nature.  It  is  true  that  they  do.  Yet  one  may 
seek,  perhaps,  if  not  a  final  cause,  yet  the  proper 
use  to  be  made,  even  of  that  which  belongs  to  the  in- 
evitable constitution  of  things.  And  so  doing,  I  should 
say  that  inequality  of  condition  is  to  be  regarded  as  a 
grand  trial  and  test  of  our  fidelity  to  high  principle — 
to  the  loftiest  rectitude.  If  I  stood  by  one  who  tower- 
ed far  above  me ;  if  he  were  conspicuous  before  the 
world,  and  the  shadow  of  his  greatness  flung  me  into 
obscurity ;  if,  moreover,  we  had  been  companions  and 
competitors,  and  I  had  labored  as  hard  as  he,  and  yet 
had  failed  to  rise  to  the  same  elevation  in  talent,  or  in 
social  claims,  or  if  I  had  risen  to  it,  and  yet  the  world 
would  not  see  it ;  if,  I  say,  I  stood  thus  contrasted 
with  another,  thus  neglected  in  comparison  with  him, 
and  then  should  ask  myself,  whereto  served  this  differ- 
ence, I  should  say — not  to  work  in  me  necessarily  any 
reverence  or  gratitude  towards  my  fellow,  but  to 
prove  and  test  and  work  out  in  me,  a  reverence  for 
the  greatness  of  virtue — to  put  me  upon  those  deep, 
unfathomed  principles  of  my  nature,  that  absorb  all 
considerations  of  self — to  fill  me  with  a  divine  disin- 
terestedness towards  another's  virtue,  with  a  divine 
calmness  in  the  consciousness  of  my  own ;  to  raise 
17 


194  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

me  above,  and  carry  me  beyond,  all  worldly  com- 
plainings, to  the  recognition  of  the  supreme  privilege, 
blessing,  happiness  of  loving  the  infinite  beauty  of 
truth,  the  infinite  glory  of  God.  It  is  in  this  sharp 
contrast,  in  this  sore  conflict,  that  virtue  gains,  per- 
haps, its  highest  triumph  on  earth.  Nor  will  it  ever, 
either  in  this  or  a  future  world,  escape  this  trial,  this 
great  challenge  to  the  noblest  elevation  ;  for  there  it 
is  written,  that  "one  star  differeth  from  another  in 
glory."  But  there,  as  the  eternal  ages  roll,  as  ever- 
lasting difference  makes  everlasting  harmony — there 
will  the  happy  soul  be  for  ever  "  satisfied  with  the  like- 
ness" of  the  Divinity — be  for  ever  "  filled  with  all  the 
fulness  of  God." 

I  have  alluded  to  certain  reasonings  with  regard  to 
the  inequalities  of  the  social  condition ;  but  the  con- 
troversy which  the  human  heart  has  with  this  state  of 
things  is  full  practical.  How  this  controversy  has 
been  carried  on,  and  how  it  has  failed  of  true  success ; 
how  it  ought  to  be  carried  on,  and  how  it  may  attain 
to  the  most  exalted  triumph — these  are  the  points 
which  I  propose  now  to  consider. 

It  has  been  carried  on,  first,  with  strife.  A  man 
has  seen  his  fellow  rising  above  him ;  succeeding  be- 
yond him  in  business  and  the  acquisition  of  property, 
or  gaining  the  praise  of  talent,  distinguishing  himself 
by  professional  ability,  or  literary  success  ;  and  either 
way,  and,  indeed,  every  way,  winning  the  regard  of 
society — and  in  fine,  taking  that  place  in  public  esti- 
mation, or  in  social  life,  which  was  the  object  of  his 
ambition.  Stung  with  jealousy  and  envy,  he  strives 
to  equal  or  to  surpass  his  prosperous  competitor.  Day 
and  night  he  thinks  of  this ;  it  is  the  secret,  the  unac- 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  195 

knowledged,  perhaps,  but  powerful  impulse,  which 
urges  him  on,  to  study,  to  business,  to  speculation,  and 
to  all  sorts  of  plans  and  schemings,  by  which  he  may 
rise.  For  this,  the  ambitious  man  builds  his  house  ; 
adorns  it  with  costly  furniture  ;  clothes  his  family  with 
splendor ;  buys  horses  and  carriages ;  gives  rich  en- 
tertainments ;  seeks  acquaintances  that  are  above  him, 
neglects  those  that  are  below  him  ;  puts  on  the  best 
appearances ;  talks  much  of  his  rich  or  distinguished 
relations,  keeps  out  of  sight  things  that  make  against 
him  ;  is  silent  about  his  origin,  his  lowly,  perhaps,  but 
virtuous  parentage  ;  lives,  a  hypocrite — labors,  a 
drudge — wears  out  his  life  with  toil  and  anxiety  ;  and 
all — to  rise.  Does  he  succeed  ?  Can  he,  in  fact,  suc- 
ceed in  any  manner,  that  ought  to  satisfy  a  rational 
being  ?  I  say,  no.  First,  because  his  course  is  always 
agitating,  irritating,  full  of  trouble  and  discomfort ;  and 
secondly,  because  the  end  of  a  selfish  and  worldly  am- 
bition, when  it  is  reached,  is  scarcely  more  satisfac- 
tory than  its  beginning.  Why  ?  Because,  there  are 
always  things  beyond  it,  just  as  much  desired  as  those 
which  it  has  already  gained.  Ask  any  of  the  thous- 
ands who  have  succeeded,  from  among  the  millions 
who  have  sought,  and  they  will  tell  you,  that  they  are 
not  yet  satisfied  ;  that  the  circle  of  their  ambition  is 
only  widened  ;  that  the  passion  for  distinction  is  only 
stimulated :  and  as  for  those  few  of  them,  who  are 
approaching  the  goal  of  supreme  power,  they  need 
not  tell  you,  for  you  will  see,  that  they  are  only  strain- 
ing every  nerve  harder  to  the  course  on  which  they 
are  running.  Can  it  be  wisdom  to  live  in  this  manner? 
Can  that  be  wisdom,  whose  progress  is  continual  vex- 
ation, and  whose  end  is  inevitable  disappointment  ? 


196  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

But,  in  the  next  place,  there  is  another,  a  rarer,  and, 
indeed,  it  is  seldom  more  than  an  occasional?  mood  of 
mind,  in  which  the  trial  of  social  inequality  is  met, 
With  this  mood,  the  strife  of  ambition  is  over  for  the 
time,  and  it  sinks  in  low  murmuring  complaint,  ov 
wraps  itself  in  the  cheerless  garment  of  misanthropy, 
or  takes  refuge  behind  the  hard  and  hidebound  shield 
of  scorn.  The  man  looks  out  and  around  upon  the 
splendor  of  earthly  distinctions,  and  says,  "  let  it  pass  ; 
I  will  not  see  it ;  I  will  not  know  it.  The  proud  and 
unjust  world — I  will  not  seek  its  favor,  nor  love  its 
praise.  Sink,  thou  gorgeous  phantom  of  this  world's 
magnificence  !  into  the  depths  of  eternity — where  thou 
shalt  soon  go.  Ha  !  thou  art  gone  1  Thou  wert  but 
a  breath,  a  dream,  a  cloud-castle  ;  and  thou  artgwie; 
and  now  I  am  as  wise  and  good,  as  if  I  were  rich  and 
great,  and  as  if  all  the  world  rang  with  my  name  alone. 
Empty  breath  of  praise  I  why  should  I  desire  ye  !  Let 
me  alone  ;  leave  me  to  obscurity  ;  leave  me  to  toil — 
and  tears — I  can  bear  them  !"  But  I  say  to  that  err- 
ing complainer — Is  this,  then,  to  bear  them  ?  Is  all 
this  scorn — not  caring  for  the  world  ?  No  ;  the  poor 
man's  despite,  the  neglected  man's  disdain,  the  humble 
man's  misanthropy,  so  far  from  being  lofty  wisdom,  is 
not  even  simple  sincerity,  nor  ordinary  good  sense. 
No ;  it  is  not  so  that  we  are  to  battle  with  the  gauds 
and  honors,  and  the  pride  of  this  world. 

Nor,  in  the  third  place,  is  it  any  more  justly,  to  do 
this  battle,  to  fly,  as  some  do,  to  the  heights  of  a  mys- 
tic pietism.  The  one  sinks  beneath  the  conflict ;  Use 
other  strives  to  rise  above  it ;  both  endeavor  to  escape 
from  it.  I  look  upon  a  man  whom  disappointed  am- 
bition, whom  earthly  mortification  and  chagrin  only, 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  197 

have  driven  to  religion,  as  upon  a  coward  who  has  run 
to  a  high  tower  from  a  post  of  danger  and  of  duty. 
True  piety  is  not  to  lift  a  man  above  all  comparison 
with  his  fellows,  but  to  sustain  him  in  that  compari- 
son ;  to  enable  him,  though  feeling  that  he  is  inferior, 
yet  to  be  happy  ;  to  enable  him  to  say,  as  John  said 
of  Jesus,  "he  must  increase,  but  I  must  decrease,"  and 
yet  to  be  happy — even  as  when  that  noble-minded  fore- 
runner said,  "  the  friend  of  the  bridegroom,  who  stand- 
eth  and  heareth  him,  rejoiceth  greatly,  because  of  the 
bridegroom's  voice  ;  this  my  joy,  therefore,  is  fulfilled." 
It  is  only  a  false  and  erring  piety,  which  leads  a  man 
to  say,  "  I  am  one  of  the  elect  of  God  ;  I  am  a  favor- 
ite of  Heaven ;  and  I  compare  not  myself  with  the 
sons  of  earth ;  I  am  altogether  above  and  beyond  all 
their  questions  about  precedence  and  honor  and  re- 
spectability." He  who  stands  above  all  other  men, 
only  in  his  conventicle  or  his  conference-room,  may 
very  well  doubt  whether  his  elevation  be  real,  or  his 
religion  sound  and  true.  And  it  is  only  a  false  and 
erring  piety,  I  repeat,  which  receives  earthly  discontent 
and  disdain  into  its  bosom,  but  to  lap  them  in  celes- 
tial visions,  and  to  buoy  them  up  to  dreamy  heights  of 
contemplation,  above  all  the  rough  and  stanch  conflicts 
of  social  life.  Many  such  refuges  of  modern  pietism 
have  there  been,  answering,  in  this  respect,  the  same 
purpose  as  the  monasteries   and  hermitages  of  old. 

Extremes,  indeed,  there  have  always  been,  one  way 
or  the  other,  to  which  men  have  ever  been  retreating 
from  the  close  and  pressing  trials  of  social  ambition. 
On  the  one  hand,  worldliness,  wealth,  rank,  insignia, 
costumes,  have  defended  them  against  the  searching 
and  honest  comparison  of  themselves  with  one  anoth- 
17* 


198  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

er.  On  the  other  hand,  they  have  escaped  into  con- 
ventual seclusion  and  wild  forest  retreats — and  farther 
yet,  into  spiritual  pride,  mysticism,  asceticism,  and  ev- 
ery strange  vagary  of  fanciful  virtue  and  imaginary 
devotion. 

This  will  not  do.  These  artificial  defences  must  be 
removed  ;  these  refuges  of  lies  must  be  swept  away. 
So  are  not  the  trials  of  society  to  be  met.  No  victor}' 
is  to  be  gained  through  such  means,  but  only  a  kind  of 
safety.  No  courage  is  to  be  nurtured  in  this  way  ; 
no  fearless  truth,  no  gentle  humility,  nothing  half  so 
beautiful  even  as  the  virtue  of  the  old  chivalry ;  but 
only  haughtiness,  pride,  either  worldly  or  spiritual,  a 
dreamy  self-importance,  an  imbecile  reliance  on  cir- 
cumstances. The  man  whom  wealth,  office  or  a  title 
— whom  parentage,  cast,  or  a  mystic  pietism,  lifts 
above  the  fair  comparison  of  himself  with  others,  is 
so  far  safe,  indeed  ;  and  he  may  bless  his  condition, 
his  defences,  his  armour,  if  he  pleases — may  bless  the 
friendly  cloud  that  wraps  him  from  the  glittering  weap- 
ons of  his  adversary ;  but  he  stands  not  up  in  the  manly, 
brave  and  beautiful  conflict  of  social  competition. 

For  that  conflict,  I  say,  may  be  beautiful.  I  know 
that  it  commonly  elicits  the  worst  passions,  and  un- 
folds the  worst  aspects  of  human  nature.  That  is 
precisely  because  it  is  the  severest  trial  of  human 
nature.  But  the  severest  trial  is  always  designed 
to  develope  the  noblest  virtue,  and  may  develope  it. 
The  result  need  not  be  what  it  is  often  seen  to 
be — anger,  envy,  bitterness — the  quarrels  of  authors, 
the  strifes  of  rivals,  the  poor  contentions  of  families, 
the  miserable  jealousies  and  heart-burnings  of  society. 
The  result  may  be  as  beautiful  as  the  trial  is  severe. 


()>     SOCIAL    AMBITION.  199 

II  ow  this  effect  is  to  be  wrought  out,  it  is  now  my 
purpose  to  show. 

You  stand  then  among  those,  who  in  common  with 
yourselves,  are  desirous  of  the  attention,  the  esteem, 
the  praise  of  society.  You  are  naturally  led  to  com- 
pare your  success,  in  this  respect,  with  theirs.  You 
do  not  escape  this  comparison  by  fleeing  to  a  hermit- 
age, far  from  the  converse  of  man.  You  do  not  es- 
cape it  by  taking  refuge  behind  the  escutcheon  of 
rank,  the  honors  of  a  noble  birth.  You  do  not  escape 
it,  let  us  suppose,  by  mounting  up  into  the  heights  of  a 
false  and  mystic  devotion.  You  are  a  man  ;  you  stand 
among  men  ;  and  are  one  of  them.  Especially,  in 
this  country,  do  you  thus  stand.  There  are  no  nurse- 
lings of  church  or  state  here;  no  baby-favorites  of  so- 
ciety here,  to  be  fondled  in  the  lap  of  primogeniture ; 
no  froward  children,  to  be  pacified  with  bright  toys, 
with  coronets  and  titles.  The  swaddling-clothes  of  old 
feudal  institutions  are  here  flung  aside.  You  stand 
among  men  only  as  a  man,  and — be  it  for  good  or  for 
evil — altogether  as  a  man.  You  may  be  a  child  of 
wealth,  but  the  son  of  the  poorest  man  from  the  most 
barren  mountain-side  in  the  country,  has  a  fair  chance 
to  outstrip  you  in  the  race  of  honor,  and  to  take  a 
higher  place  in  the  world  than  you ;  and  he  probably 
will  do  so.  But  not  to  insist  on  this — here  you  stand, 
I  say,  among  a  thousand  competitors ;  and  of  almost 
every  man  to  whom  I  could  speak  in  society,  I  might 
safely  say,  somebody  is  above  you — somebody  has 
surpassed  you — some  other,  in  your  own  walk.  An- 
other preacher  has  more  hearers ;  another  lawyer, 
more  clients ;  another  physician,  more  patients ;  an- 
other author,  more  readers ;  another  candidate  for  the 


200  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

attention  of  society,  educated  and  trained  up  with 
yourself  perhaps,  has  more  notice,  more  invitations, 
more  caressings,  from  the  great  world  than  you  have. 
Now,  how  is  this  to  be  met  ? 

There  are  three  conditions  under  which  this  supe- 
rior success  may  be  gained,  to  which  different  consid- 
erations are  applicable.  Let  us  dwell  upon  them  for 
a  moment. 

In  the  first  place,  you  may  say,  that  it  has  been  un- 
fairly gained ;  that  management  and  chicanery  in  a 
profession,  dishonesty  in  business,  or  insincerity  and 
sycophancy  in  society,  have  carried  it  over  you.  Then, 
I  ask,  would  you  take  that  success  on  condition  of 
adopting  the  same  expedients,  the  same  character? 
.Would  you  exchange  your  happiness,  for  such  happi- 
ness ?  Is  such  advancement  any  real  success  ?  If 
you  think  so,  you  are  not  true  to  yourself.  If  you 
cannot  stand  calmly,  and  see  such  air-bubbles  as 
quackery,  falsehood  and  vanity,  rising  around  and 
above  you,  you  have  yet  to  learn  what  is  the  true  dig- 
nity and  self-respect  of  a  man.  "  But  it  is  rather  hard, 
after  all,"  you  may  say ;  and  besides,  the  questions, 
you  may  remind  me,  are  not  such  unmixed  questions 
as  I  state  ;  your  rivals  have  certain  merits  ;  it  is  by 
mixing  up  certain  other  and  lighter  things  with  them, 
that  they  rise  above  you.  Then,  I  say,  you  must 
make  your  election.  If  you  will  avail  yourself  of  those 
other  things,  you  may  also  have  the  envied  success, 
such  as  it  is — unsatisfactory  while  it  lasts,  and  likely 
enough  to  be  short-lived — but  such  as  it  is,  you  may 
have  it.  But  if  you  will  not  make  that  compromise, 
if  you  will  keep  your  integrity,  then  be  your  integrity 
your  reward.     It  is  reward  enough.     It  is,  indeed,  the 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  20 1 

true  success.  I  do  not  deny  that  it  will  cost  you  an 
effort,  a  trial.  I  look  upon  society  as  designed,  through 
its  very  injustice,  to  put  our  truth,  simplicity  and  inde- 
pendence to  severe  proof.  But  let  them  stand  the 
proof,  and  they  shall  come  forth  as  gold  purified  from 
the  furnace. 

But,  in  the  next  place,  it  may  be  true,  that  others 
have  surpassed  you,  by  superior  industry,  by  harder 
study,  by  greater  efforts  to  accomplish  themselves,  and 
to  render  their  manners  agreeable  to  the  world  around 
them.  Of  this  case,  there  is,  of  course,  nothing  to  be 
said,  but  that  all  complaint  on  the  part  of  the  indolent 
and  negligent  is  totally  unreasonable  ;  and,  indeed,  is 
not  to  be  reasoned  with  ;  but  only  to  be  rebuked. 

Without  dwelling  upon  this,  therefore,  I  pass  at 
once  to  the  third,  and,  to  most  persons,  probably,  the 
hardest  case  of  all :  the  case,  I  mean,  in  which  the 
superiority  of  one  to  another  is  the  gift  of  nature,  or 
of  circumstances.  One  inherits  wealth ;  another  has 
beauty  ;  a  third  is  endowed  with  high  intellectual  gifts. 
And  from  one  or  another  of  these  causes,  or  from  all 
of  them  combined,  some  are  placed  above  you  in  the 
world,  and,  perhaps,  far  above  you.  They  are  sought 
as  you  are  not  sought ;  they  are  admired  and  praised 
as  you  are  not  admired  and  praised.  Attention,  adu- 
lation, homage,  are  poured  out  in  lavish  abundance, 
at  their  feet ;  their  names  are  written  in  every  news- 
paper, or  mentioned  in  every  drawing-room  ;  while 
you  sit  in  silent  places,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  do- 
mestic roof,  or  by  the  humble  way-side  of  life  ;  and 
the  great  world  passes  you  by,  without  comment  or 
inquiry.  This,  I  say,  is  one  of  the  great  trials  of  so- 
ciety— this  is,  perhaps,  the  greatest  trial  in  its  utmost 


202  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

pressure- — and  I  come  now,  again  to  the  question,  how 
is  it  to  be  met? 

My  answer  to  this  question  will  relate,  first  to  the 
distinction  itself,  and  next  to  the  state  of  mind  with 
which  it  is  to  be  regarded. 

In  the  first  place,  the  distinction  is  far  less  than  it 
seems  ;  I  mean  that  it  is  far  less  to  the  successful  as* 
pirant,  than  it  seems  to  the  observer.  Somebody  is 
above  Mm,  as  far  as  he  is  above  you  ;  and  he  is,  per- 
haps, as  little  satisfied  with  his  advancement,  as  you 
are  with  yours.  He  does  not  estimate  his  success  as 
you  do  ;  and  he  is,  probably,  just  as  anxious  to  rise  to 
some  higher  point,  as  you  are  to  rise  to  his  point.  The 
same  questions,  it  is  likely,  the  same  trials  are  passing 
in  his  mind  that  are  passing  in  yours.  Nay,  how  often 
is  it  the  case,  that  the  man,  upon  whose  position  you 
are  looking  with  admiration,  and  almost  with  envy, 
whom  you  dare  not  approach,  by  whom  you  imagine 
that  your  attentions  would  be  scorned — how  often  is 
he  pining,  in  discontent,  in  loneliness,  and  under  fan- 
cied neglect !  The  cup  of  successful  ambition,  I  doubt 
not,  is  often  drank  in  solitariness,  and  is  dashed  be- 
sides, with  many  a  bitter  ingredient. 

But,  in  the  next  place,  distinction  is  not  only  less 
than  it  seems,  but  it  is,  in  another  respect,  of  far  less 
importance  than  it  seems.  It  is  so,  I  mean,  in  this 
respect ;  that  it  has  no  peculiar  portion  in  the  love  of 
society.  Admiration,  praise,  notice,  it  may  have ;  but 
love  is  not  the  guerdon  of  success.  That  belongs  to 
goodness,  and  to  goodness  alone.  It  is  not  talent, 
wealth  or  beauty  that  wins  affection.  No  ;  let  it  not 
be  thought  that  God  has  dealt  so  unequally  with  his 
earthly  children,  as  to  make  the  dearest  boon  of  social 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  203 

existence,  love,  to  depend  on  any  factitious  or  arbitrary 
distinctions.  He  has  thrown  lighter  toys  among  those 
children,  to  fall  irregularly,  and  to  be  gathered  une- 
qually, and  according  to  no  strict  rule  of  justice — for- 
tunes and  honors,  stars  and  coronets,  and  crowns,  has 
he  thus  disposed  of,  to  be  scrambled  for — and  often  to 
be  crushed  and  spoiled  in  the  grasp  which  gains  them  ; 
but  so  has  he  not  disposed  of  the  solid  and  enduring 
wealth  of  love.  No,  not  to  high  birth  nor  haughty 
rank ;  not  to  beauty,  proud  of  peerless  charms ;  not 
to  genius  that  stands  aloft  in  misanthropic  scorn — to 
none  of  these  is  love  given.  It  is  dispensed  on  a  more 
rigorous  condition.  It  is  no  chance  prize,  no  "  acci- 
dent of  an  accident."  It  is  taken  out  of  the  blind  lot- 
tery of  life.  To  goodness,  and  to  goodness  only,  is 
true  love  given.  And  well,  full  well  is  that  boon 
earned,  and  dearly,  most  dearly  is  it  cherished,  in  ten 
thousand  thousand  dwellings,  unadorned  by  wealth, 
unknown  to  fame,  unvisited  by  the  flaunting  robes  of 
worldly  fashion.  By  those  still  waters  of  deep,  pure 
love,  let  the  multitudes  of  men  sit  down — of  those  si- 
lent fountains  let  them  drink  deep,  and  not  disturb 
them,  nor  turn  them  into  bitterness,  by  eager  and 
angry  struggles,  for  the  lighter  gifts  of  worldly  dis- 
tinction. 

But  I  have  admitted  that  these  gifts  have  their 
value,  and  conceding  this  to  them,  I  am  to  consider, 
in  the  second  place,  and  finally,  with  what  state  of 
mind  they  are  to  be  regarded. 

And  the  first  feeling  which  is  called  for  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, is  one  of  profound  submission  to  the  will 
of  God.  Your  neighbor  holds  a  position  above  you,  I 
have  supposed,  not  merely  by  the  aid  of  arts  which 


204  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

you.  cannot  practise,  and  do  not  envy ;  not  alone  by 
means  of  superior  industry  or  study,  to  which  you  are 
bound  in  justice  to  give  place  ;  but  by  the  force  of 
talents,  or  other  recommendations,  which  he  owes  to 
the  sovereign  Dispenser  of  every  blessing.  It  is  God, 
therefore,  who  has  made  you  to  differ.  Was  it  for 
you  to  demand  of  the  great  Creator,  what  measure  of 
abilities,  what  charms  of  person,  what  endowments  of 
fortune,  or  what  honors  of  parentage,  he  should  be- 
stow upon  you  ?  Even  if  you  could  perceive  no  good 
reasons,  in  the  general  economy  of  things,  why  one 
human  being  should  differ  from  another ;  even  if  you 
thought  it  ever  so  desirable  that  all  men,  in  natural 
advantages,  should  stand  on  a  perfect  level,  it  is  enough 
for  you  to  know,  that  disparity  is  the  sovereign  ordina- 
tion of  the  infinite  will.  Thy  neighbor's  greatness,  be 
it  derived  from  original  talent,  from  beauty,  or  high 
parentage,  is  the  shrine  of  the  Almighty  Sover- 
eignty. Before  it  thou  shouldest  stand  in  awe  ;  in 
awe,  I  say,  not  of  thy  neighbor,  but  in  awe  of  God. 
And  the  voice  which  comes  from  that  shrine,  to  thy 
murmuring  thought,  is,  "  be  still,  and  know  that  I  am 
God  !"  Dost  thou  complain  of  this  ?  As  well  might- 
est  thou  demand,  that  some  higher  world  had  been  as- 
signed thee  for  thy  sphere  !  As  well  mightest  thou 
demand,  that  thou  hadst  been  made  one  of  a  loftier 
order  of  creatures — angel  or  archangel. 

Here  I  might  pause.  But  I  would  not  leave  the 
subject  without  pointing  out  some  other  states  of  mind, 
with  which  the  trial,  whether  of  real  or  supposed  in- 
feriority, is  to  be  met.  With  this  purpose  in  view,  let 
us  look  at  our  own  nature,  and  let  us  look  around  us, 
upon  our  fellow-men.     To  gain  the  end  in  view,  it  is 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITBON.  "*    Va  ,  205        * 

needful  that  we  look  upon  our  fello\J^merf  wVh  toye  ancr  7* » 
confidence — upon  our  own  nature,  wS^devout*^rati-4 
tude  and  veneration.  ' ' .  \*y 

Upon  our  fellow- men,  I  say,  let  us  look  with  love, 
with  confidence.  To  our  peace  of  mind,  this  is  essen- 
tial. A  man  may  think  lightly  of  this  advice  ;  he  may 
disdain  to  submit  the  high  controversy  with  his  rivals 
to  a  moral  force  ;  he  may  smile  in  derision,  when  we 
put  forward  the  dictates  of  a  gentle  and  loving  spirit, 
to  wrestle  with  the  strong  and  stormy  passions  of  hu- 
man life ;  he  may  say,  that  it  is  as  if  we  sent  a  child 
into  the  battle  of  armed  men ;  yet  let  me  tell  that 
man,  that  this  is  the  only  thing — this  child  in  the  man's 
heart — this  child-like  love,  this  child-like  confidence — 
is  the  only  thing  that  can  bring  the  poor  and  miserable 
strifes  and  envyings  of  the  world  to  an  end.  Let  him 
call  it  what  he  will — weak,  poor-spirited,  mean — it  is 
the  only  thing  that  can  help  him.  That  emblem-child 
which  our  Saviour  once  set  in  the  midst  of  his  ambi- 
tious disciples,  is  here  the  only  powerful  teacher.  Re- 
fuse that  teaching,  pursue  the  worldly  course — refuse, 
in  short,  to  stand  in  any  relation  to  your  fellow-beings, 
but  that  of  strife  for  the  precedence  ;  and  there  is  no 
help  for  you.  It  is  not  in  heaven  nor  earth  to  help 
you.  It  is  thus  that  the  disinterested  love  of  our  kind 
is  made  a  necessity ;  not  to  be  dispensed  with,  but 
upon  condition  of  giving  up  all  true  peace  of  mind. 
Thus  stern  and  uncompromising  is  the  language  of 
Providence.  If  you  had  been  called  upon  only  to  love 
and  admire  beings  far  above  you,  in  some  loftier 
sphere  of  existence,  it  had  been  easy.  So  had  you 
been  little  tried.  But  you  are  placed  side  by  side, 
with  beings  who,  some  of  them,  tower  above  you  ; 

18 


206  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

you  are  placed  in  this  close  pressure  of  social  compe- 
tition— and  why  ?  It  is,  I  say,  that  every  particle  of 
mean  selfishness  and  base  envy,  may  be  expelled  from 
your  bosom.  Love,  then — pure,  confiding,  generous, 
disinterested  love — has  become  to  you  a  necessity. 
You  cannot  do  without  it.  You  might  have  stood 
without  it  on  some  solitary  and  barren  point,  alone  in 
the  creation  ;  but  in  the  world,  you  cannot  live,  and 
be  happy  without  it. 

And  how  often  have  I  seen,  and  surely  was  struck 
with  observing  it,  that  simple  love,  simple  confidence, 
simple  self-forgetfulness,  makes  its  way  in  the  world, 
makes  its  way  to  the  heart,  penetrates  through  all 
barriers — finding  every  where  an  open  door,  and  good 
welcome  and  acceptance  !  I  will  not  say  that  it  was 
plain  iniperson,  poor  in  estate,  or  humble  in  condition ; 
it  might  be  so,  or  it  might  not ;  but  this  I  mean  to  say, 
that  in  every  sphere,  disinterested  goodness  is  the  pre- 
eminent quality  ;  happy  in  itself,  and  most  likely,  other 
things  being  equal,  to  be  happy  in  the  love  of  others. 
Yes,  amidst  all  the  selfishness  and  injustice  of  the 
world,  this  is  true.  And,  therefore,  would  I  send 
every  complainer,  every  murmurer,  every  jealous  or 
anxious  or  desponding  person,  that  is  ever  thinking  of 
himself — I  would  send  him  to  the  school  of  love — to 
the  school  of  Christ.  Thou  mayest  seek,  restless,  dis- 
contented one  !-  many  resources,  many  reliefs  ;  but 
thou  must  come  to  Christ,  if  ever  thou  wouldst  find 
rest  to  thy  soul.  This  is  no  cant  language,  no  lan- 
guage of  the  pulpit  merely ;  it  is  the  language  of  sim- 
ple truth  ;  the  only  language  that  applies  to  the  simple, 
actual  relations  of  being  to  being.  Had  there  been  no 
Bible — had  there  been  no  religion,  it  were  true.   Never 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  207 

canst  thou  look  rightly  upon  thy  neighbor,  upon  thy 
companion,  soaring  above  thee,  unless  thou  lookest 
upon  him  in  a  kindly  and  loving  spirit.  This  only  can 
compose  the  miserable  strifes  of  society.  Come  down, 
celestial  goodness  ! — as  an  angel,  come  down ;  and  un- 
seal the  fountains  of  healing,  and  spread  new  life  and 
beauty  over  the  barrenness  of  an  unkindly,  envious 
and  unhappy  world  ! 

One  further  consideration  I  have  mentioned,  and  to 
that  I  would  invite  your  attention  for  a  moment  in 
close.     It  is  the  consideration  of  our  own  nature. 

Your  neighbor  is  above  you  in  the  world's  esteem, 
perhaps — above  you,  it  may  be,  in  fact ;  but  what  are 
you  t  You  are  a  man  ;  you  are  a  rational  and  reli- 
gious being ;  you  are  an  immortal  creature.  Yes,  a 
glad  and  glorious  existence  is  yours ;  your  eye  is 
opened  to  the  lovely  and  majestic  vision  of  nature  ; 
the  paths  of  knowledge  are  around  you,  and  they 
stretch  onward  to  eternity  ;  and  most  of  all,  the  glory 
of  the  infinite  God,  the  all-perfect,  all-wise,  and  all- 
beautiful,  is  unfolded  to  you.  What  now,  compared 
with  this,  is  a  little  worldly  eclat  ?  The  treasures  of 
infinity  and  of  eternity  are  heaped  upon  thy  laboring 
thought ;  can  that  thought  be  deeply  occupied  with 
questions  of  mortal  prudence  ?  It  is  as  if  a  man  were 
enriched  by  some  generous  benefactor,  almost  beyond 
measure,  and  should  find  nothing  else  to  do,  but  to  vex 
himself  and  complain,  because  another  man  was  made 
a  few  thousands  richer. 

Where,  unreasonable  complainer  !  dost  thou  stand, 
and  what  is  around  thee  ?  The  world  spreads  before 
thee  its  sublime  mysteries,  where  the  thoughts  of  sages 
lose  themselves  in  wonder ;  the  ocean  lifts  up  its  eter- 


208  ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION. 

nal  anthems  to  thine  ear;  the  golden  sun  lights  thy 
path  ;  the  wide  heavens  stretch  themselves  above  thee, 
and  worlds  rise  upon  worlds,  and  systems  beyond  sys- 
tems, to  infinity  :  and  dost  thou  stand  in  the  centre  of 
all  this,  to  complain  of  thy  lot  and  place  ?  Pupil  of  that 
infinite  teaching !  minister  at  Nature's  great  altar ! 
child  of  heaven's  favor !  ennobled  being  !  redeemed 
creature  !  must  thou  pine  in  sullen  and  envious  mel- 
ancholy, amidst  the  plenitude  of  the  whole  creation  1 

"  But  thy  neighbor  is  above  thee,"  thou  sayest. 
What  then  ?  What  is  that  to  thee  ?  What,  though 
the  shout  of  millions  rose  around  him  ?  What  is  that, 
to  the  million-voiced  nature  that  God  has  given  thee  ? 
That  shout  dies  away  into  the  vacant  air ;  it  is  not 
his  :  but  thy  nature- — thy  favored,  sacred  and  glorious 
nature — is  thine.  It  is  the  reality — to  which  praise  is 
but  a  fleeting  breath.  Thou  canst  meditate  the  things, 
which  applause  but  celebrates.  In  that  thou  art  a 
man,  thou  art  infinitely  exalted  above  what  any  man 
can  be,  in  that  he  is  praised.  I  had  rather  be  the  hum- 
blest man  in  the  world,  than  barely  be  thought  greater 
than  the  greatest.  The  beggar  is  greater,  as  a  man, 
than  is  the  man,  merely  as  a  king.  Not  one  of  the 
crowds  that  listened  to  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes 
and  Cicero — not  one  who  has  bent  with  admiration 
over  the  pages  of  Homer  or  Shakspeare — not  one 
who  followed  in  the  train  of  Cesar  or  of  Napoleon, 
would  part  with  the  humblest  power  of  thought,  for 
all  the  fame  that  is  echoing  over  the  world  and  through 
the  ages. 

Upon  those  mighty  resources,  then,  upon  those  in- 
finite benefactions  of  thy  being,  cast  thyself  and  be 
satisfied.     Thou  canst  read ;  thou  canst  think ;  thou 


ON    SOCIAL    AMBITION.  209 

canst  feel  ;  thou  canst  love — and  be  loved ;  thou 
canst  love  the  infinitely  lovely : — say,  then,  that  it  is 
enough  !  In  that  ocean  of  good,  let  poor  and  pitiful 
pride  and  ambition  be  swallowed  up.  Amidst  an  in- 
finitude of  blessings,  let  humble  gratitude  and  bound- 
less reverence,  be  the  permament  forms  and  charac- 
ters of  thy  being. 


18* 


210 


DISCOURSE  IX. 

ON  THE  PLACE  WHICH   EDUCATION  AND    RELIGION  MUST 
HAVE,    IN    THE    IMPROVEMENT    OF    SOCIETY, 


II.  PETER  I.  5 — 7.     Add  to  your  faith  virtue;  and  to 

VIRTUE,  KNOWLEDGR  ;  AND  TO  KNOWLEDGE,  TEMPERANCE  ; 
AND  TO  TEMPERANCE,  PATIENCE  ;  AND  TO  PATIENCE,  GODLI- 
NESS J  AND  TO  GODLINESS,  BROTHERLY-KINDNESS  ;  AND  TO 
BROTHERLY-KINDNESS,    CHARITY. 

I  have  thus  far,  in  this  series  of  discourses  on  soci- 
ety, been  occupied  chiefly  with  the  consideration  of 
evils  and  dangers.  I  shall  in  this  discourse,  invite  your 
attention  to  remedial  and  conservative  principles.  It 
is  not  my  intention,  however,  to  apply  them  to  the 
evils  already  stated,  since  it  was  natural  to  connect 
with  the  notice  of  them,  some  consideration  of  the 
proper  remedies ;  and  since  there  are  other  evils  no  less 
obvious  and  urgent.  I  may  add  here,  that  I  aim  at  no 
completeness  in  this  series  of  discourses  ;  my  plan  is 
to  notice  only  such  topics,  however  isolated  and  dis- 
connected, as  justly  press  themselves  upon  our  atten- 
tion, in  the  moral  views  which  we  are  taking  of  mod- 
ern society. 

The  principles  of  improvement  and  safety  which  I 
propose  now  to  examine,  are  education  and  religion. 
The  space  which  I  shall  be  able  to  give  to  these  sub- 
jects, in  a  single  discourse,  must  be,  compared  with 


OF    SOCIETY.  211 

their  importance,  very  small ;  and,  indeed,  instead  of 
attempting  fully  to  discuss  their  social  bearings,  my 
purpose  rather  is,  in  accordance  with  the  hint  of  my 
text,  to  suggest  some  things  which  need  to  be  added 
to  the  popular  views  of  them. 

But  let  us  consider,  for  a  moment,  the  state  of  things 
on  which  these  suggestions  are  to  bear. 
•  It  is,  doubtless,  a  very  extraordinary  state  of  things. 
Its  distinctive  feature,  is  a  grand  popular  movement, 
slowly  propagating  itself  through  all  civilized  nations — 
( a  revolution  of  ideas,  which  is  elevating  the  mass  of 
mankind  to  importance  and  power  ;  and,  in  fact,  to  the 
eventual  government  of  the  world.  It  is  a  revolution 
which  goes  alike  beyond  all  former  examples  in  history, 
and  principles  in  philosophy.  The  education  of  this 
age — that  mass  of  sentiment  and  maxims  which  it  has 
received  from  former  ages — does  not  prepare  it  to 
understand  itself.  Though  the  noblest  genius  and 
philosophy  of  former  times,  have  been  distinguished  by 
their  generous  recognition  of  the  claims  of  humanity ; 
yet  they  have  seldom  descended  to  work  out  the  great 
problem  of  human  rights.  They  have  shown  more  ad- 
miration for  human  nature,  than  confidence  in  it.  Their 
speculations,  indeed,  have  proceeded  upon  grounds 
widely  different  from  the  present  state  of  facts.  When 
Aristotle  discoursed  in  such  discouraging  terms  on  the 
popular  tendencies,  he  discoursed  concerning  a  people 
that  could  not  read  ;  that  had  no  newspapers  ;  that 
were  ignorant  and  brutal,  compared  with  our  educated 
and  Christian  communities.  When  Plato  reasoned  of 
his  ideal  republic,  his  ground  was  pure  hypothesis ; 
his  work  pure  fiction.  The  philosophy  of  modern 
politics,  has  not  been  written  in  past  times ;  it  cannot 


212  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

be  written  now  ;  that  work,  I  believe,  in  its  full  per- 
fection must  be  left  to  a  future  age.  I  do  not  pretend 
to  say  what  it  will  be  ;  the  principle  of  intelligent, 
Christian  freedom  may  develope  results,  that  are  out 
of  the  range  of  our  present  contemplation.  But  this, 
I  think,  is  evident,  that  when  the  future  philosopher 
and  historiographer  rises,  that  shall  analyze  and  pour- 
tray  the  stupendous  revolution  that  is  now  passing  in 
the  civilized  world,  he  will  speak  of  a  revolution  hav- 
ing no  precedent  in  history.  None  was  ever  so  uni- 
versal, so  profound,  or  so  fearful.  All  former  revolu- 
tions have  been  local,  occasional  and  sanguinary/  In 
former  days,  when  power  has  been  wrested  from  its 
despotic  possessor,  it  has  been  done  only  by  a  violent 
and  bloody  hand.  But  now,  an  influence,  silent  and 
irrisistible,  is  rising  up  from  the  mass  of  the  people, 
and  is  stealing  from  thrones  and  princedoms  and  hier- 
archies their  unjust  prerogatives  ;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  as  if  by  some  wonder-working  magic,  is  making 
their  incumbents  helpless  to  resist,  and  even  willing  to 
obey. /Potentates  are  learning  a  new  lesson,  and  so 
are  tne  people  too./feefore,  revolutions  have  been 
violent  and  bloody,  from  the  very  weakness  of  those 
who  have  carried  them  on,  from  the  very  uncertainty 
whether  they  should  succeed.  Now,  the  people  are 
reposing  in  calm  security  upon  their  undoubted 
strength.  Assurance  has  made  them  moderate^/  Let 
no  one  mistake  their  moderation  for  apathy,  or  their 
quietness  for  defeat ;  for  they  are  calm  only  in  pro- 
portion as  they  are  determined  and  sure.* 

*  Nothing  surprised  me  more,  four  years  ago  in  England, 
than  what  appeared  at  first  sight,  this  apathy ;  this  mpderated 


OF    SOCIETY.  213 

Such  is,  undoubtedly,  the  character  of  the  present 
era,  however  we  may  regard  the  good  or  the  evil 
involved  in  it.  To  me,  I  confess,  it  is  far  the  most 
momentous  and  sublime  era  in  the  history  of  th<> 
world.  The  introduction  of  Christianity,  and  the 
discovery  of  printing — the  two  greatest  events  on 
record — are,  in  fact,  now  producing,  for  the  first  time, 
on  the  broad  theatre  of  national  fortunes,  the  very 
results  which  we  are  witnessing*  They  have  given 
birth,  if  not  to  the  free  principles  of  modern  times,  at 
least,  to  their  free  action.  Like  the  sun  and  the  moon 
in  heaven,  they  have  penetrated  by  their  influence  the 
great  deep  of  society.  The  effect  produced,  may  well 
awaken  that  solemn  and  even  religious  emotion  in  the 
mind,  of  which  a  late  distinguished  writer  has  spoken. 
What  is  now  presented  to  the  attention  of  the  world, 
is  not,  as  formerly,  kingdoms  convulsed,  or  navies 
wrecked  upon  the  shore,  but  that  "  tide  in  the  affairs 
of  men,"  that  slow  rising,  and  gradual  swelling  of  the 
whole  ocean  of  society,  which  is  to  bear  every  tiling 
upon  its  bosom. 

>*It  is  scarcely  possible  to  speak  of  this  great  move- 
ment of  modern  society,  without  something  like  anxiety 
and  apprehension.  The  very  terms,  in  which  our 
conceptions  of  it  naturally  clothe  themselves,  bear  an 
aspect  as  of  something  portentous  and  fearful.  And 
that  there  is  actual  danger  in  this  revolution  of  opinions, 
I  am  so  far  from  denying,  that  it  is  the  very  purpose  of 
this  discourse  to  discuss  the  only  principles  of  safety. 

tone  of  the  most  radical  reformers^  but  how  much  more  was  I 
struck,  to  find,  on  closer  observation,  this  deeper  determination, 
this  repose  of  conscious  strength  ;  the  purpose  to  succeed  not 
weakened,  but  only  stronger  in  its  calmness! 


214  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

But,  at  the  same  time,  I  cannot  take  my  place 
among  the  alarmists.  I  cannot  believe,  that  the  feel- 
ing of  apprehension  which  is  springing  up  all  over  the 
civilized  world,  is  justified  in  its  full  extent.  There 
are  dangers,  doubtless :  what  season  of  probation  for 
high  ends,  ever  failed  to  be  a  season  of  peril  ?  To 
warn  one  another  of  that  peril ;  to  summon  brave, 
honest  and  true  hearts  to  meet  it;  to  stand  amidst 
the  people  as  one  of  their  brethren,  and  to  lift  up  the 
voice  of  friendly  admonition,  is  well.  How  well  it  is, 
to  stand  aloof  from  them,  and  to  fling  down  dis- 
couragement and  scorn  upon  the  popular  cause,  I 
must  leave  others  to  determine.  But  this  I  must  say, 
that  if  indeed  that  cause  shall  fail,  if  the  future  historian 
of  this  momentous  period,  must  write  its  story  in  tears 
and  blood,  I  shall  ever  believe  it  will  be,  in  part,  be- 
cause the  proper  intellectual  guides  of  the  world,  were 
not  true  to  the  solemn  trust  reposed  in  them.  It  is, 
indeed,  an  extraordinary  fact — a  fact  reversing,  in  a 
striking  manner,  the  usual  course  of  things — that 
while  opinion  ordinarily  propagates  itself  from  the  more 
educated  to  the  more  ignorant  classes,  the  popular 
cause  is  now  rising  and  swelling  against  the  loudest 
remonstrances  of  so  many  superior  minds,  as  if  it  were, 
indeed,  an  ocean-tide,  against  which  nothing  is  destined 
to  prevail. 

This  remonstrance,  this  alarm,  seems  to  me,  I  have 
ventured  to  say,  to  be  carried  to  an  unwarrantable  ex- 
tent. Alarm,  indeed,  appears  to  be  one  of  the  epi- 
demic diseases  of  the  age.  Every  religious  associa- 
tion, every  little  spiritual  coterie,  every  school  of  sect, 
speculation  and  philanthrophy,  is  trembling  for  the 
fate  of  the  world.     Now,  the  philosophy  of  the  world 


OF    SOCIETY.  215 

is  going  to  ruin  it ;  tten,  its  extravagance,  intemper- 
ance, licentiousness  is  to  do  the  work ;  then  popery, 
heresy,  infidelity,  is  elevated  to  this  bad  eminence  in 
mischief.  The  danger  from  some  of  these  quarters,  I 
freely  admit.  But,)k  is  really  worth  while  to  observe, 
through  how  many  prophecies  of  ruin,  through  how 
many  critical  and  doomed  periods,  the  world  has  lived./ 
Truly,  one  is  sometimes  tempted  to  say  to  these  alarm- 
ists, "  Good  sirs,  have  a  little  patience  ;  the  world  is 
likely  to  last  our  time ;  the  purposes  of  Providence 
will  stand,  though  you  be  disappointed  in  some  of 
your  favorite  theories  or  projects." 

It  is  one  effect  of  this  alarm,  to  turn  the  public  at- 
tention too  much  to  immediate  and  palpable  resorts 
for  safety,  to  the  readiest  instruments  that  come  to 
hand,  rather  than  to  those  deep  and  broad  foundations 
which  must  be  laid  in  the  moral  education,  the  culti- 
vated and  spiritualized  mind  of  the  community.  Thus, 
if  some  Constitution  can  be  preserved,  if  some  House 
of  Lords  can  be  hedged  about  with  impregnable  de- 
fences, it  seems  to  be  thought,  that  the  world  will  be 
saved.  Thus,  almost  all  the  reforms  of  the  day,  are 
turning  upon  some  palpable  evil;  as  intemperance, 
licentiousness,  pauperism.  But  important  or  other- 
wise, as  any  of  these  efforts  may  be,  there  is  a  work 
of  redemption  that  must  go  deeper,  must  go  down 
into  the  heart  of  the  world,  or  it  will  not  be  saved,  in 
the  great  crisis  that  is  approaching.  ^How  easy  were 
it  to  show,  that  there  are  evils  lying  beneath  all  palpa- 
ble evils,  and  which,  if  the  same  universal  attention 
were  fixed  upon  them,  would  appear  far  greater.  In- 
temperance, licentiousness,  pauperism,  and  with  these, 
popular  violence,  mobs  and  tumults,  are  all  but  indexes 


216  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

of  deeper  evils,  symptoms  of  deeper  maladies,  that  are 
seated  in  the  very  heart  of  society.  Alas  !  the  world 
is  not  well,  is  not  happy  in  itself — the  infinite  wants 
of  humanity  are  not  provided  for — else,  would  not  the 
world  break  out,  on  every  hand,  for  relief  from  those 
necessities  and  pains,  that  are  preying  upon  its  inmost 
bosom. 

I  must  add,  that  even  where  the  real  conservative 
principles,  education  and  religion,  are  resorted  to,  they 
are  too  often,  I  fear,  but  superficially  regarded  ;  and 
are,  as  they  are  used,  but  ready  instruments,  instead 
of  being  considered  as  deep  principles  and  thorough 
remedies.  If  education  with  us,  is  a  mere  technical 
system,  a  mere  teaching  of  the  arts  and  sciences  com- 
monly learned  in  schools  ;  if  religion  is  a  mere  state- 
engine,  or  only  a  form  or  creed,  or  barely  a  charity 
to  the  poor  and  vicious,  neither  will  exert  the  needed 
influence.  It  is  striking  to  observe,  that  the  whole 
strength  of  the  Tory  party  in  England,  all  its  will, 
wish  and  thought  about  religion,  seems  to  be  occupied 
with  the  preservation  of  a  visible  Establishment.  I 
may  do  injustice  to  this  aim,  but  it  seems  to  me,  that 
it  is,  in  the  hands  of  many  of  its  most  earnest  sup- 
porters, the  mere  worldly  scheme  of  worldly  men ; 
and  certain  I  am,  that  no  such  schemeowill  answer 
now.  I  maintain,  on  the  contrary,  that  deeper  views 
of  education  and  religion  must  be  added  to  those 
which  now  prevail ;  that  to  education  must  be  added 
a  moral  influence,  and  to  religion  a  deeper  philosophy 
and  a  more  thoroughly  practical  character,  in  order 
to  make  them  the  guardian  powers  that  the  present 
age  requires.  /And  these  are  the  positions,  of  which  it 
is  now  my  further  purpose,  to  attempt  some  illustration. 


OF   SOCIETY.  217 

The  first  subject  to  be  considered  is  education. 
From  the  earliest  settlement  of  the  country,  this  has 
engaged  the  earnest  attention  of  our  communities. 
We  have  set  the  first  example  in  the  world,  of  the  in- 
struction of  the  whole  mass  of  the  people.  Education 
has  ever  been  our  watch-word,  and  our  boast.  No 
celebration  of  any  public  festival,  no  grave  dissertation 
of  the  closet  upon  our  institutions,  ever  omits  the  re 
cognition  of  its  importance.  On  every  side,  it  is  con- 
stantly represented,  as  the  sheet-anchor  of  our  liberty. 

Well  is  it  that  we  pay  this*  homage  to  education  ; 
but  have  we  sufficiently  considered  what  it  must  be, 
to  answer  the  end  proposed  ?  Have  we  not  made  it 
a  mere  watch-word — have  we  not  regarded  it  as  a 
mere  talisman,  and  expected  some  magical  effects 
from  it,  rather  than  entered  into  a  deep  consideration 
of  its  nature ;  of  the  qualities  which  adapt  it  to  the 
preservation  of  the  national  order  and  security  ? 

I  beg  attention  to  this  inquiry.  And  for  the  pur- 
pose of  awakening  that  attention,  I  wish  to  present  to 
you  one  or  two  extraordinary  facts  bearing  on  this 
point,  from  the  history  of  education  in  Europe.  In 
Prussia,  where,  so  far  as  mechanism  is  concerned,  the 
most  perfect  system  of  public  instruction  ever  known, 
has  recently  been  adopted — in  that  kingdom,  I  say, 
education  is  considered  as  nothing  without  religion. 
"  The  first  vocation  of  every  school,"  says  one  of  its 
ordinances,  "  is  to  train  up  the  young  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  implant  in  their  minds,  a  knowledge  of  the 
relation  of  man  to  God,  and  at  the  same  time,  to  ex- 
cite both  the  will  and  the  strength,  to  govern  their 
lives  after  the  spirit  and  precepts  of  Christianity. 
Schools  must  early  train  children  to  piety,  and,  there- 

19 


218  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

fore,  must  strive  to  second  and  complete  the  early 
instructions  of  parents."  Again,  in  France,  which 
some  while  since  sent  one  of  her  most  distinguished 
philosophers*  to  inquire  into  the  Prussian  system  of 
education,  and  where  that  system,  but  without  its  re- 
ligious influence,  has  been  partially  adopted,  we  are 
presented  with  this  extraordinary  and  astounding 
statement — viz.,  that  in  the  best  educated  departments, 
tlie  greatest  amount  of  crime  has  been  found  to  exist. 
This  is  not  an  observation  made  at  hazard  ;  it  is  abso- 
lutely a  matter  of  statistics.  Nakedly  stated,  the  fact 
is  this  ;  that  education  in  France  has  produced  crime. 
This,  at  least,  is  what  is  admitted  by  the  friends  of 
education  in  France,  and  insisted  upon  by  its  enemies 
in  England  ;f  and  with  my  views  of  the  subject,  I 
have  no  difficulty  in  admitting  that  it  is  true. 

For  this  is  the  view  which  I  take  ;  that  education, 
considered  simply  as  instruction  in  reading,  writing, 
arithmetic,  &c, — education,  separate  from  any  moral 
influence,  does  not  necessarily  tend  to  make  any  peo- 
ple better,  and  may  be  easily  perverted,  so  as  to  make 
them  worse.  "  Knowledge,"  it  is  often  said,  "  is 
power ;"  but  it  is  power,  as  capable  of  bad  as  of  good 
uses.  Thus,  the  knowledge  of  reading  and  writing 
communicated  to  a  people,  may  only  increase  the 
number  of  forgers  and  counterfeiters  :  the  knowledge 
of  arithmetic  may  only  multiply  the  chances  of  knavery 
in  accounts.  Thus,  also,  an  acquaintance  through 
newspapers,  with  the  conduct  of  government  or  of 
obnoxious  individuals,  may  urge  a  simple  people  to 

*  Cousin.    See  his  Report  on  the  Prussian  System. 
|  See  an  article  on  Democracy,  in  Blackwood's  Magazine, 
No.  225. 


OF    SOCIETY.  210 

disaffection  and  treason,  or  hurry  a  quiet  people  into 
mobs  and  tumults.  And,  in  the  same  way,  general 
knowledge,  into  which  no  moral  principles  are  infused, 
may  lead  men  to  ambition,  discontent,  envy  and  un- 
happiness,  and  by  these  means,  to  excess,  extrava- 
gance and  vice.  But  I  am  speaking  mainly  of  that 
particular  knowledge,  which  is  commonly  gained  in 
schools.  There  is,  indeed,  a  higher  intelligence  which 
is  favorable  to  virtue,  inasmuch  as  it  sees  all  else  but 
virtue,  to  be  utter  folly  and  mistake.  But  of  know- 
ledge, considered  as  a  mere  technical  acquisition,  I 
say,  that  it  is  a  mere  instrument,  whose  use  and  utility 
will  depend  on  its  moral  direction. 

It  is  upon  these  clear  and*  indisputable  grounds,  that 
I  maintain  the  necessity  of  adding  to  our  knowledge, 
virtue ;  to  our  system  of  education,  a  moral  and 
spiritual  influence.  Other  things  must  be  taught  in 
our  schools,  besides  the  elements  usually  considered 
as  belonging  to  them.  Good  morals  and  pious  senti- 
ments should  be  as  anxiously  and  earnestly  taught,  as 
reading  and  writing. 

But  I  must  not  be  content  on  this  vital  point,  with 
a  general  statement.  Education,  in  the  largest  sense, 
is  the  preparation  of  the  mind  for  the  scene  in  which  it 
is  to  act.  What,  then,  should  be  the  education  of  a  free 
people — and,  indeed,  of  human  beings  as  such  ?  I  an- 
swer, that  our  youth  should  be  taught,  at  some  period 
before  they  leave  the  common  schools,  that  they  are  to 
be  electors,  jurors,  magistrates,  and,  perhaps,  legisla- 
tors ;  and  thus,  virtually,  rulers  of  the  country.  They 
should  be  made  to  feel  something  of  the  weighty 
charge  that  is  about  to  be  devolved  upon  them.  They 
should  be  made  to  understand  the  duties  to  their  coun- 


2*20  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

try  and  to  their  God,  which  are  implied  in  the  trust 
they  are  about  to  assume.  Were  this  faithfully 
taught  in  all  our  schools,  we  might  hope,  ere  long,  to 
see  a  time,  when  the  whole  political  action  of  the 
country  should  not  run  to  passion  and  caprice  and 
prejudice,  and  a  mere  contest  for  the  mastery.  Were 
this  done,  we  might  hope  to.  see,  ere  long,  an  end  of 
that  pernicious  distinction,  which  is. now,  made  be- 
tween individual  and  party  morality,  between  personal 
and  official. conscience  ;  and  political  confidence  and 
public  honor  would  no  longer  be  heaped  upon  men, 
whose  lives  are  stained  with  private  vices.  Again,  an 
education  of  youth  for  the  part  they  have  to  act  in 
our  communities,  should  enter  deeply  into  their  social 
relations,  should  imbue  their  minds  with  independ- 
ence, magnanimity,  candor  and  courtesy,  should  put 
them  on  their  guard  against  ambitious  aspirings  and 
preying  discontents,  should  moderate  the  strife  for 
social  precedence,  should  teach  respect  for  the  laws, 
should  clothe  the  constitution  of  the  country  with  an 
inviolable  panoply,  should  arm  the  majesty  of  legal 
justice  with  the  authority  of  conscience.  In  fine,  an 
education  for  life,  essentially  involves  the  deepest  prin- 
ciples..of  religion  ;  and  though  the  family  is  the  great 
school  for  this  kind  of  education,  yet  no  school  should 
fail  of  recognising  it,  as  a  part  of  the  nurture  and  dis- 
cipline, of  youth.  The  weariness  and  ennui  that  are 
commonly  witnessed  in  our  schools,  the  indocility  and 
insubordination  of  which  there  is  so  much  complaint, 
arise,  in  a  considerable  measure,  from  the  want  of  any 
perceived  connection  between  them  and  the  practical 
objects  of  life.  The  child  does  not  well  understand 
what  all  this  study  is  for.     Place,  then,  before  him. 


OF    SOCIETY.  221 

the  scene  of  life,  make  it  a  part  of  the  regular  business 
of  instruction,  to  speak  to  him  of  the  situations  in  which 
he  will  be  placed,  and  of  what  will  be  a  just  and  noble 
conduct  in  them  ;  and  then,  as  surely  as  human  nature 
has  any  principles  to  be  relied  on,  their  attention  and 
interest  will  be  aroused.  The  ends  of  life,  the  princi- 
ples of  happiness,  the  art  of  living — physically,  mentally 
and  morally  considered — the  morals  of  business  and 
pleasure,  the  occupations  and  callings  of  men,  carried 
into  detail — what  they  are,  what  are  the  instruments 
they  work  with,  what  is  their  utility,  what  are  their 
duties — all  these  subjects,  not  in  dry  and  abstract 
terms,  such  as  I  now  use,  but  with  vivid  and  almost 
dramatic  representation,  might  be  presented  to  our 
youth,  and  contribute  to  that  intelligence  and  virtue, 
which  are  the  basis  of  our  national  well-being  and 
safety. 

Education  must  rise  among  us,  or  the  nation  must 
sink.  That  it  will  advance,  I  cannot  doubt,  when  I 
see  the  spirit  that  is  manifested  in  various  parts  of  the 
country.  But  there  is  one  alarming  fact,  that  ought 
to  fix  the  attention  of  the  country,  till  it  is  aroused  to 
greater  exertions  than  it  has  yet  put  forth.  The  pro- 
gress of  population  in  some  of  the  states,  is,  at  this  mo- 
ment, outstripping  the  progress  of  education.  There 
was  a  time  when  scarcely  a  youth  could  be  found  in 
the  whole  nation,  who  was  not  taught  the  elements  of 
learning.  The  number  of  the  uninstructed,  is  now 
some  hundreds  of  thousands,  if  it  must  not,  indeed,  be 
stated  to  be  more  than  a  million  !  I  know  not  in  what 
terms  to  dwell  upon  this  fact,  that  shall  present  its  full 
claims  upon  the  public  attention.  If  nations,  as  such, 
have  ever  any  vocation,  ours  is  to  educate  the  people. 

19* 


2*22  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

If  Providence  ever  laid  a  weight  of  obligation  like  the 
weight  of  destiny,  upon  any  people,  it  has  laid  that  ob- 
ligation upon  us.  If  it  ever  spread  before  the  eyes  of 
any  people,  the  yawning  gulf  of  destruction,  and  dis- 
tinctly wTarned  them  to  beware  of  it,  it  has  spread  be- 
fore us,  in  that  character,  the  dark  gulf  of  popular 
ignorance.  Into  it,  the  nation  will  inevitably  descend, 
unless  it  is  closed  up.  No  single  sacrifice,  like  the 
fabled  sacrifice  of  the  Roman  Curtius,  can  avert  the 
danger.  The  fearful  chasm  in  our  popular  education, 
can  be  closed  only  by  the  united  efforts  of  the  whole 
people.  A  representative  government  represents  the 
character  of  the  people.  And  that  government  which 
represents  prevailing^  ignorance,  degradation,  brutality 
and  passion,  has  its  fate  as  certainly  sealed,  as  if,  from 
the  cloud  that  envelopes  the  future,  a  hand  came  forth, 
and  wrote  upon  your  mountain  walls,  the  doom  of  ut- 
ter perdition ! 

To  avert  such  a  doom,  the  next  great  power  to 
which  we  appeal,  is  religion.  Intelligence  and  reli- 
gion are  the  two  grand  conservative  principles  of  all 
society.  And  neither  of  them  can  be  relied  on,  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  other.  Religion  is  wanted  to  give  to 
intelligence  a  right  direction  ;  and  intelligence  is  equal- 
ly wanted  to  make  religion  rational,  sober  and  wise ; 
to  preserve  it  from  superstition  and  fanaticism  ;  from 
that  fatal  substitution,  so  common,  of  forms  and  fancies 
and  articles  of  faith  for  practical  virtue.  I  say,  that 
neither  of  these  great  conservative  principles  can  be 
dispensed  with.  Many  political  economists  have  in- 
sisted on  the  necessity  of  education,  without  seeming 
to-be  sensible  of  the  necessity  of  religion.  But  I  can- 
not understand  upon  what  ground  a  man  can  believe 


OP    SOCIETY.  223 

in  one,  without  believing  in  the  other.  Nay,  if  I  be- 
lieved in  neither,  if  I  looked  upon  the  frame  of  society 
only  with  the  eye  of  an  artist,  if  I  cared  not  what  be- 
came of  human  governments,  or  the  human  character, 
or  any  thing  else  human,  I  should  still  be  compelled  to 
see  and  admit,  that  there  is  no  basis  for  human  wel- 
fare, individual,  social  or  national,  none  conceivable  or 
possible,  none  provided  by  the  great  Framer  of  the 
world,  but  intelligence  and  virtue. 

But  it  is  not  my  purpose  in  this  discourse,  to  defend 
so  large,  and,  I  hope,  so  evident  a  proposition.  It  is 
my  design  rather,  as  I  have  stated  it,  to  point  out  an 
extension  of  the  great  conservative  principles,  which, 
I  apprehend  is  not  equally  admitted,  or,  at  least,  not 
equally  considered.  This  design,  so  far  as  it  relates 
to  religion,  contemplates  that  subject  in  two  relations 
to  the  general  welfare ;  first,  to  the  poor  and  distress- 
ed classes  of  society,  and  secondly,  to  the  whole  body. 

With  regard  to  pauperism,  and  its  consequent  mis- 
eries and  vices,  the  religious  action  of  society  has  hither- 
to mostly  contented  itself  with  charities  ;  with  means 
and  efforts  directed  to  the  relief  of  its  palpable  evils. 
I  trust  the  time  has  now  arrived,  when  a  new  princi- 
ple is  to  be  adopted.  This  principle  is,  to  do  the  least 
possible  for  the  body,  and  the  utmost  possible  for  the 
mind ;  to  apply  ourselves  directly  to  the  root  of  all 
evrl,  the  sours  ignorance  and  debasement ;  to  elevate 
the  physical  condition,  through  the  improvement  of  the 
moral  condition. 

It  has,  at  length,  been  found  out,  that  general  and 
indiscriminate  charities  only  multiply  the  evils  which 
they  propose  to  relieve  ;   that  pauperism  grows  by 


224  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

what  it  thus  feeds  on.  The  history  of  English  chari- 
ties has  shown  this  on  a  large  scale,  and  our  own 
experience,  so  far  as  we  have  followed  that  example, 
has  brought  out  the  same  result.  This  treatment  of 
pauperism  constantly  produces  a  two-fold  effect ;  phy- 
sical necessity  and  mental  imbecility  together,  grow 
and  thrive  upon  it.  So  certain  is  this,  that  beggary 
has  become,  to  every  reflecting  man,  who  has  looked 
into  the  subject,  the  index  to  the  saddest  combination 
of  physical  and  moral  evils.  In  Europe  there  is  more 
apology  for  it.  But  I  confess,  that  in  our  country,  in 
our  streets,  it  affects  me  to  see  a  man  or  a  woman 
stretch  out  the  hand  for  alms.  For  I  know,  that  in 
almost  all  cases,  it  is  an  indication  just  as  clear  as  if  a 
placard  were  presented  by  that  hand,  setting  forth  a 
story  of  indolence,  improvidence,  vice  and  degrada- 
tion. And  just  as  plainly  would  a  true  hand-writing 
show,  that  to  give  to  such  applicants,  is,  in  almost 
every  instance,  only  to  increase  all  that  debasement 
and  misery.  Nay,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  there 
is  more  suffering  that  is  buried  in  silence,  ay,  and 
clothed  in  the  decent  garb  of  respectable  poverty, 
than  is  indicated  by  the  brazen  beggary  of  the  streets. 
Still,  I  admit,  that  such  cases  are  to  be  attended  to. 
But  I  maintain,  that  the  only  right  attention  is  that 
which  follows  them  to  their  homes.  When  it  finds 
there,  sickness,  or  helpless  age,  or  urgent  distress, 
which  for  the  moment  nothing  else  can  meet,  it  is  to 
give  relief.  But  the  grand  principle  of  all  wise  charity 
is,  that  he  who  would  benefit  a  poor  family,  must  visit 
it,  must  make  himself  acquainted  with  its  condition 
and  character,  and  must  apply  himself  to  the  removal 


OF   SOCIETY.  225 

of  these  mental  and  moral  evils  which  lie  at  the  foun- 
dation of  all  its  wants  and  miseries.* 

In  fine,  religion,  when  it  addresses  itself  to  the  re- 
lief of  indigence,  must  learn  to  respect  the  poor,  and 
to  feel  for  them.  •  "  To  goodness  we  must  add  bro- 
therly kindness."  I  fear  we  little  know  what  a  deep 
and  almost  terrific  sentiment  of  hatred,  is  often  engen- 
dered in  the  breasts  of  the  poor,  by  the  ordinary  ad- 
ministration of  charities.  They  feel  themselves  de- 
graded rather  than  obliged,  by  this  manner  of  giving. 
They  become,  in  fact, '  enemies  of  their  benefactors. 
They  have  their  part  to  play  as  well  as  the  philan- 
thropists. They  consider  it  a  sort  of  contest  between 
them ;  and  their  business  is  to  get  all  they  can  ;  to 
deceive  as  much  as  possible  ;  and  to  remunerate  them- 
selves, to  the  utmost,  for  the  unhappy  and  degrading 
relation  which  they  sustain  to  their  superiors.  This 
is  human  nature.  And  it  is  only  by  forgetting  what 
human  nature  is,  that  we  have  been  able  to  overlook 
this  inevitable  result.  A  man  is  not  to  be  relieved  as 
your  horse  or  your  dog  may  be.  It  must  be  done 
with  a  sentiment  of  respect.  I  would  that  a  new 
mode  of  giving  were  introduced,  more  accordant  with 
the  humanity  and  gentleness  of  the  Gospel.  I  would 
that  a  man  should  be  pained  by  having  a  fellow-being 
approach  him  in  the  humble  attitude  of  a  beggar.  I 
would  that  a  flush  of  ingenuous  and  sympathizing 
shame,  should  overspread  the  brow  of  the  giver.  Alms 
are  not  to  be  a  matter  of  business ;  and  yet  let  it  be 

*  On  this  head,  I  cannot  do  any  thing  so  well,  as  to  refer  the 
reader  to  Mr.  Arnold's  last  admirable  Report.  It  is  Mr.  A.'s 
"Seventh  Semi-annual  Report  of  his  service  as  Minister  at 
large  in  New  York." 


226  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

considered  whether  all  public  and  indiscriminate  chari- 
ties will  not,  without  the  greatest  care,  inevitably  be 
of  this  character.  They  must  not  be  conferred  upon 
the  poor  with  indifference,  or  flung  to  them  with 
contempt. 

Would  you  do  good  then  to  your  poor  brethren  of 
the  human  family — respect  them,  love  them,  feel  for 
them.  Go  forth,  and  commune  with  them.  Lay  aside 
your  robes  of  pride  ;  they  will  but  entangle  you.  Go 
freely  forth,  and  as  you  have  opportunity,  mingle  with 
them  ;  commune  with  them  frankly  ;  help  them  ;  com- 
fort them  ;  make  them  respect  themselves ;  make  them 
virtuous ;  make  them4iappy.  How  can  you  hope  to 
do  the  good  you  ought  to  do,  to  your  poor  brethren,  till 
in  deep  sympathy  you  feel  and  act  as  one  among  them, 
and  of  them  ?  They  are  not  out  of  the  pale  of  hu- 
manity. They  are  your  brethren.  You  are  of  them. 
Before  the  great  Giver,  you  are  all  poor.  Where  is 
the  proud,  strong,  rich  man,  that  stands  aloof  from  his 
fellow-man,  as  if  he  were  one  of  another  species  ? 
To-morrow,  perhaps,  thou  shalt  lie  down  upon  thy 
bed,  to  die — poor  as  the  poorest — about  to  be  stripped 
of  every  thing.  To-day,  thou  oughtest  to  kneel  down 
before  thy  God,  and  to  say,  "give  me,  O  thou  Supreme 
and  ever  Gracious  One — not  gold  and  silver — but  that 
which  is  infinitely  dearer,  that  which  I  infinitely  more 
need  than  ever  houseless  outcast  needed  my  alms — 
give  me  thy  pardon,  thy  mercy,  thine  everlasting 
favor !" 

Such,  my  friends,  is  the  application  of  religion  to 
the  single  relation  in  society  of  the  rich  to  the  poor ; 
let  us  now  consider  it  in  its  bearing  on  the  welfare  of 
the  whole  social  body. 


OF    SOCIETY.  227 

The  simple  and  single  question  is,  what  kind  of  reli- 
gion is  adapted  to  the  ends  of  our  particular  govern- 
ment and  our  peculiar  social  economy  ?  If  religion 
were  to  answer  the  purposes  of  a  despotic  govern- 
ment, it  might  be  a  mere  political  engine,  a  creature 
of  the  state.  Such  were  most  of  the  religions  of  an- 
tiquity. If  it  were  to  be  the  mere  tool  of  a  priesthood, 
or  of  an  ecclesiastical  state,  it  might  be,  to  answer  that 
purpose,  a  superstition  and  a  bondage.  Believing,  ac- 
quiescing, submitting,  might  then  be  every  thing,  and 
practice,  little  or  nothing.  But  if  religion  is  to  be  the 
friend,  the  improver  and  guardian  of  a  whole  people, 
what  must  it  then  be  ? 

I  might  answer  in  the  very  words  of  Scripture,  and 
say,  that  it  must  be  a  religion  "  first,  pure ;  then,  peace- 
able ;  full  of  good  fruits,  without  partiality,  and  without 
hypocrisy  ;"  or  in  the  words  of  my  text,  and  say,  "  add 
to  godliness,  brotherly  kindness,  and  to  brotherly  kind- 
ness, charity." 

But  let  us  enter  into  some  detail ;  and  looking  be- 
yond the  narrow  bounds  of  sectarian  preference,  let 
us  consider  upon  broad  and  rational  grounds,  what  the 
religion  of  a  free  people  must  be. 

Surely,  it  must  first  of  all,  be  pure.  It  must  lay  the 
axe  at  the  root  of  every  thing  wrong  in  society.  It 
must  hold  no  compromise  with  the  vices  either  of  the 
rich  or  of  the  poor,  of  the  high  or  of  the  low  ;  of  poli- 
ticians or  private  men,  of  statesmen  or  citizens.  All 
are  to  come  under  one  grand  law,  and  to  be  amenable 
to  one  rule.  There  is  to  be  no  saving  clause  for  peo- 
ple of  condition,  for  the  great  or  rich,  for  prince  or 
monarch.  None  are  to  be  considered  as  above  the 
restraints  of  religion,  and  none  beneath  its  mercies. 


228  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

But  the  main  consideration  on  which  I  intend  to  in- 
sist is,  that  our  religion  must  be  practical.  Solemn 
forms,  and  dark  scholastic  dogmas,  might  answer  the 
purpose  of  producing  an  outward  decency  and  an  im- 
plicit acquiescence,  but  they  will  not  be  living  powers, 
acting  on  the  vital  interests  of  society.  Doctrines,  that 
have  been  written  in  books,  must  be  written  in  the 
heart.  Creeds  must  not  take  the  place  of  virtues,  nor 
professions  of  principles.  All  substitutions  that  pre- 
vent religion  from  bearing  directly  upon  the  heart  and 
the  daily  life,  must  be  done  away.  Nor  is  the  work 
to  be  done  in  this  respect,  a  slight  one.  How  much 
religion  is  kept  from  the  hearts  of  the  people  by  the 
common  forms  of  its  administration,  is  a  serious  ques- 
tion. In  this  view,  I  look  with  more  than  doubt,  upon 
the  peculiar  constitution  of  the  church  in  this  country. 
We  have  not  an  establishment,  and  we  bless  ourselves 
in  our  exemption  from  it.  But  we  have  what  I  fear 
is  worse  in  its  effect  upon  the  popular  mind,  an  eccle- 
siastical oligarchy.  In  most  other  Christian  countries, 
the  people  are  regarded  as  the  children*  of  the  church, 
and  are  freely  invited  to  participate  in  its  ordinances. 
Two  or  three  sects  among  ourselves,  the  Catholics, 
the  Episcopalians,  and  the  Unitarians  in  some  of  their 
churches,  follow  the  same  rule.  But  with  these  ex- 
ceptions, the  churches  of  this  country  hold  the  grand 
characteristic  ordinances  of  Christianity,  in  the  power 
of  their  vote.  And  if  religion,  in  its  only  embodied 
form,  thus  stands  aloof  from  the  people,  if  it  surrounds 
itself  with  a  barrier  of  exclusion,  does  it  not  so  far  cut 
itself  off  from  free  access  to  individual  minds  and 
hearts?  In  such  a  country  as  this,  above  all  others, 
religion  should  be  the  liberal,  generous  and  gracious 


OF   SOCIETY.  229 

protector  and  friend  of  the  people.  No  otherwise  can 
it  be  efficient  and  practical. 

But  there  are  other  defects  in  its  administration.  If 
religion  clothes  itself  with  the  cumbrous  armor  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  with  scholastic  dogmas  and  disquisitions, 
it  cannot  worthily  and  manfully  fight  the  battle  for 
freedom.  The  great  foes  of  our  liberty,  sin,  vice,  avar- 
ice, sensuality,  luxury  and  social  ambition,  are  not  so 
to  be  vanquished.  What  care  they  for  decrees,  and 
substitutions,  and  imputations  of  righteousness,  and 
the  subtilties  of  creeds — paper  shields  and  helmets  of 
parchment,  and  solemn  priestly  robes — what,  I  repeat, 
do  the  rooting  herds  of  worldliness  and  voluptousness, 
care  for  them  ?  Religion  must  come  to  a  closer  con- 
test with  human  wickedness,  if  it  would  ever  gain  the 
mastery.  The  pulpit  must  be  unchained.  The  preacher 
must  be  free.  No  fastidious  solemnity,  no  artificial 
sanctity,  no  superstitious  dogmas  of  prevailing  opinion 
about  what  is  peculiarly  spiritual  or  religious,  must  re- 
strain him.  He  must  go  down  freely  into  the  midst 
of  life,  and  nothing  must  escape  him  that  seriously  af- 
fects the  virtue  of  society.  The  power  which  the 
preacher  might  exert  on  the  public  welfare,  is  as  yet 
but  little  known.  One  day  in  seven  given  up  to  him ; 
ten  thousand  pulpits  in  this  land  opened  to  him ;  so 
many  posts  in  a  country  to  hold  it  against  its  moral 
enemies — such  an  array  of  force,  were  it  wisely  exert- 
ed, might  stand  against  all  dangers,  and  ensure  the 
national  intelligence,  virtue  and  piety. 

But  there  is  still  another  and  more  subtle  foe  to  the 
practical  efficiency  of  our  religion  ;  and  that  is  found 
in  the  prevailing  idea  of  its  nature.  The  constitution 
of  the  church,  the  character  of  the  pulpit,  have  their 

20 


230  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

influence,  and  it  is  great.  But  there  is,  more  deeply 
embedded  in  the  very  heart  of  society,  the  conception, 
that  religion  does  not  consist  in  the  practical,  every 
day  virtues — justice,  honesty,  brotherly  kindness,  gen- 
tleness, candor  and  truth — but  that  it  consists  essen- 
tially in  a  certain  peculiar  state  of  the  affections,  an 
acquiescence  of  the  heart  in  a  particular  plan  of  salva- 
tion, the  consummation  of  a  special  process  of  expe- 
rience, the  result,  in  short,  of  a  miraculous  conversion. 
Other  things,  indeed,  follow  from  religion  ;  but  this  is 
religion  itself.  I  have  weighed  every  word  I  have 
now  uttered,  with  unfeigned  anxiety  to  do  no  injustice 
to  the  popular  sentiment.  And  I  do  not  object,  let  it 
be  observed,  that  this  process  and  these  peculiarities 
should  be  considered  as  occasional  appendages  of  real 
piety  and  goodness,  but  only  that  they  should  be  re- 
garded as  its  essence.  And  that  they  are  so  regarded, 
the  answer  of  three  persons  out  of  every  four  you 
meet,  will  show  you.  If  you  question  them  as  to  their 
religious  character,  you  will  find  that  is  made  by  them 
to  depend  on  these  points.  The  question  with  them 
will  be  about  a  time  and  a  process,  a  despair  and  a 
hope,  a  conviction  and  a  conversion.  The  main  stress 
of  their  anxieties  will  rest  upon  these  points.  They  will 
not  ask  themselves,  whether  they  are  now  honest  and 
upright,  temperate  and  forbearing,  kind-hearted  and 
true  ;  but  whether  at  a  particular  time  they  have  had 
a  particular  experience,  and  whether  they  have  kept 
up  the  feeling  of  that  experience  all  along  till  now. 

I  have  entered  farther  than  I  intended  into  this  dis- 
tinction ;  but  it  is,  indeed,  most  vital  to  the  bearings 
of  religion  on  society.  For  is  it  not  perfectly  evident, 
that  in  proportion  as  too  much  stress  is  laid  upon  the 


OP    SOCIETY.  231 

points  just  noticed,  too  little  will  be  laid  upon  the  vir- 
tues of  social  and  private  life  ?  This,  I  apprehend,  is 
the  grand  defect  of  the  religion  of  our  country.  There 
is  much  religion  among  us,  and,  I  believe,  that  it  is  in- 
creasing. So  far  all  is  well,  is  cheering.  Would  that 
it  were  all  sound,  rational  and  true ! 

It  is  possible,  in  our  religion,  to  give  an  undue  prom- 
inence even  to  the  purest  spirituality  and  piety ;  and 
thus,  to  give  too  little  space  to  the  social  virtues. 
There  is  one  piece  of  sacred  history  that  most  em- 
phatically teaches  us  on  this  point.  David  was  a  most 
devout  man ;  his  writings  show  it ;  and  this,  I  sup- 
pose, is  what  is  meant  by  his  being  called  "  a  man  af- 
ter God's  own  heart."  And  yet  he  was  guilty  of  some 
of  the  most  heinous  social  offences  on  record.  And 
this  is  not  a  solitary  instance.  Your  own  observation, 
perhaps,  might  furnish  some  sad  examples  of  this  tre- 
mendous error.  Some  of  the  most  devout  men  that 
ever  I  have  known — I  say  not  that  they  were  hypo- 
crites— men,  as  I  believe,  of  sincere  though  erring  pi- 
ety and  prayer,  were,  in  their  social  relations,  some  of 
the  worst  men  that  I  ever  knew.  What  does  the  whole 
history  of  religion,  Pagan,  Popish  and  Protestant,  more 
clearly  show,  than  this  exposure  ?  Men  have  worship- 
ped God,  and,  at  the  same  time,  hated,  persecuted,  cast 
out,  crushed  and  destroyed  their  fellow-men.  It  was 
against  this  error  that  an  apostle  set  himself,  when  he 
said,  "he  that  loveth  not  his  brother  whom  he  hath  seen, 
how  doth  he  love  God  whom  he  hath  not  seen !" 

For  the  improvement  of  society,  then,  we  want  a 
religion  of  society.  We  want  a  religion  that  comes 
home  to  the  heart  in  all  its  affections ;  that  touches 
all  the  relations  of  husbands  and  wives,  parents  and 


232  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES 

children,  brothers  and  sisters,  friends  and  associates, 
We  want  a  religion  for  business  and  for  amusement, 
for  public  office  and  private  duty,  for  every  social  act 
that  a  man  can  perform — whether  he  gives  his  suffrage, 
or  decides  questions  in  a  court  of  justice,  or  dispenses 
wealth  in  hospitality,  or  sits  at  the  frugal  board  of 
humble  poverty.  We  want  a  religion  of  kindness, 
and  gentleness,  and  generosity,  and  candor,  and  mod- 
esty, and  forbearance,  and  integrity,  and  self-respect, 
and  mutual  respect. 

And  let  me  add  for  my  own  defence,  that  we  want 
a  religion  that  will  speak  of  all  these  things.  I  know 
very  well,  that  some  of  the  topics  which  I  am  discus- 
sing in  this  series  of  discourses,  have  fallen  upon  ears 
quite  unaccustomed  to  hear  such  things  from  the  pul- 
pit. I  know  that  some  persons  will  consider  many  of 
these  matters  as  having  nothing  to  do  with  religion, 
and  quite  out  of  place  in  the  pulpit.  Most  earnestly 
do  I  protest  against  this  conclusion.  What  was  the 
example  of  the  great  Master  ?  Did  he  show  any  of 
this  modern  fastidiousness  about  preaching?  How 
free  and  natural  and  various  was  his  manner  !  how 
unrestrained  his  discourse  !  Though  delivering  words 
of  inspiration,  which  were  to  be  recorded  for  the  in- 
struction of  all  ages,  though  constantly  engaged  in  the 
highest  mission  ever  fulfilled  on  earth,  though  sur- 
rounded by  the  watchful  eyes  of  jealous  and  formal 
Pharisees,  yet  there  was  no  staid  or  affected  solemnity 
in  his  discourse  ;  he  addressed  himself  to  every  case, 
availed  himself  of  every  incident  around  him  ;  the 
homes  of  Judea  rise  before  us  as  we  read  him ;  her 
rulers,  her  judges,  her  political  condition,  her  social 
state,  all  have  a  place  in  his  teachings  and  warnings ; 


OP   SOCIETY.  233 

there  was  not  a  topic  within  the  range  of  moral  influ- 
ence to  which  he  did  not  freely  apply  himself.  Upon 
the  authority  of  that  great  example,  I  claim  a  right  here, 
in  the  Church  of  Christ,  to  speak  of  every  thing  that  af- 
fects the  moral,  the  vital  welfare  of  the  people.  I  have  a 
contest  here — with  error,  with  sin  and  misery.  I  do  not 
want  any  technical  system  of  theology  to  tell  me  what 
they  are.  I  know  what  they  are.  If  I  had  never  heard  of 
any  creed  or  system,  I  should  just  as  well  know  what  sin 
and  misery  are.  I  know  what  they  are,  and  where  they 
are.  I  see  them,  I  feel  them,  all  around  me.  And  so 
seeing  and  feeling,  I  must  have  liberty  to  speak  to 
them — to  go  where  they  are — to  go  wherever  a  free 
discourse  upon  them,  will  carry  me  ;  without  stopping 
to  inquire  whether  it  is  beyond  the  artificial  pale  of 
what  is  called  a  sermon.  You  may  call  the  commu- 
nication by  whatsoever  name  it  pleases  you  to  char- 
acterize it.  Say,  if  you  choose,  that  it  is  not  a  sermon  ; 
call  it  an  oration,  a  speech,  an  address ;  but  if  it  an- 
swers its  purpose,  if  it  opens  to  you  a  wider  range  of 
duties,  if  it  spreads  the  feeling  of  conscience  over  a 
larger  field  of  life,  I  shall  be  satisfied.  That  heavy 
and  dull  word,  sermon — with  a  thousand  formal  and 
lifeless  pictures  of  association,  stamped  upon  it — is,  I 
fear,  a  shackle  to  many  preachers — and  a  stone  of 
stumbling  to  many  hearers — and  such  an  one  as  pre- 
vents many  from  hearing  at  all.  Let  it  be  a  free,  nat- 
ural, manly  address  to  the  people,  on  their  most  vital 
interests  ;  and  it  would  be  a  different  thing — different  to 
many  hearers — and  very  different  with  many  preachers. 
And  such  is  the  proper  office  of  preaching.  It  is 
a  simple  address  to  the  people,  and  upon  their  most 
vital  interests.  And  in  saying  this,  in  defending  the 
20* 


234  THE    CONSERVATIVE    PRINCIPLES,   &C. 

position  which  I  now  take,  I  am  not  wandering  at  all 
from  the  leading  subject  on  which  I  am  engaged — the 
influence  of  religion  upon  our  social  and  national  wel- 
fare. This  is  precisely  what  we  want — that  the 
preacher  should  come  out  from  his  set  forms,  his  tech- 
nical themes  and  monotonous  tones,  and  speak  freely 
of  every  thing — of  every  thing  that  morally  concerns 
the  people,  as  if  he  spoke  for  his  life,  or  for  the  life  of 
his  friend.  And  it  is  for  more  than  life  that  he  speaks — 
for  the  welfare  of  a  whole  mighty  people,  and  of  un- 
born generations.  For  that  welfare  of  the  people 
never  did,  and  never  can,  depend  upon  any  thing  but 
its  virtue  and  piety.  This  is  the  only  hope  of  future 
times.  Yes,  the  presence  of  God  must  be  among  us — 
that  pillar  of  cloud  and  pillar  of  fire  must  accompany 
the  march  of  coming  generations,  or  they  will  wander, 
and  be  lost — like  the  nations  that  have  ceased  to  be. 

My  friends,  our  work  on  earth  will  soon  be  done. 
That  mighty  procession,  ere  long,  will  pass  by  our 
graves.  What  matter  is  it  that  we  shall  sleep  in  the 
dust,  if  our  work  is  done  and  well  done  ;  if  we  have 
helped  to  raise  up  in  those  that  come  after  us,  a  mighty 
host  of  the  intelligent,  the  virtuous,  the  happy  and  free  ! 
This  secured — and  I  see,  in  prospect,  a  land  of  peace 
and  prosperity,  a  land  of  churches,  and  temples  of 
science,  and  towers  of  strength  ;  and  the  progress 
of  the  coming  generations  shows  like  a  glorious  tri- 
umph. Fair  flowers  shall  be  strewed  in  their  path  ; 
bright  omens  shall  cheer  them  on  ;  they  shall  fulfil  the 
prayers  of  the  pious  dead ;  they  shall  reward  the 
tears  and  blood  of  martyred  patriots ;  they  shall  ac- 
complish the  hopes  of  abased,  broken,  and  prostrate 
humanity ! 


235 


DISCOURSE   X 


ON    WAR. 


ECCLESIASTES  IX.  18.     Wisdom  is  better  than  weap- 

ONS   OF   WAR. 

My  subject  this  evening  is  war ;  and  my  purpose 
is  to  consider  it  as  an  immense  social  evil,  and  one 
which  the  rising  spirit  of  modern  society  is  likely  to 
control.  The  connection  between  the  two  subjects  is 
too  obvious  to  be  insisted  on.  But  the  system  of  war 
is  connected  with  the  great  interests  of  society,  in  one 
way  which,  though  less  obvious,  is,  perhaps,  more  im- 
portant than  any  other — I  mean  by  the  accumulation 
of  national  debts.  War  not  only  consumes  the  pres- 
ent possessions  of  mankind,  but  it  uses  up  in  advance, 
the  property  of  future  generations  ;  it  lays  a  burthen 
of  taxes  upon  ages  to  come.  How  great  this  bur- 
then is,  and  in  how  many  ways  it  presses  upon  the  so- 
cial happiness  and  improvement  of  the  world,  are  sub- 
jects, I  think,  which  have  not  yet  been  sufficiently  con- 
sidered. 

But  before  I  enter  upon  the  general  subject  of  the 
social  evils  produced  by  war,  let  me  undertake  briefly 
to  state  the  ground  I  take  with  regard  to  it. 

I  do  not  say  then,  in  the  first  place,  that  war,  under 
all  circumstances,  is  wrong.     A  war,  strictly  defen- 


236  ON    WAR. 

sive,  I  hold,  is  right.  But  very  few  wars,  I  believe, 
will  be  found  to  possess  this  character.  Yet  when  such 
a  case  does  occur,  I  do  not  believe  that  any  nation  is 
obliged  to  sit  still,  and  see  its  fields  ravaged  and  its 
homes  violated,  without  lifting  an  arm  in  resistance. 
The  right  which  nature  gives  us  of  personal  self-de- 
fence, extends,  I  conceive,  to  the  relations  of  states  and 
kingdoms.  If  I  may  break  the  arm  of  a  ruffian  who 
lifts  a  club  to  destroy  me,  I  may  go  farther,  if  neces- 
sary— I  may  break  both  his  arms  ;  and  so  long  as  he 
has  a  limb  or  a  sense  which  can  aid  him  to  inflict  upon 
me  the  evil  he  meditates,  I  may  disable  it ;  and  thus  I 
may  go  on  defending  myself,  till  the  assailant  himself 
is  destroyed,  So  also  may  I  defend  others,  whose  life 
is  committed  to  my  protection.  I  should  be  a  rnonr 
ster  and  not  a  man,  if  I  could  sit  still,  and  see  a  sav- 
age enter  my  doors  and  murder  my  family  before  my 
eyes.  But  that  savage  or  that  ruffian,  is  precisely  the 
representative  of  an  invading  army. 

Nor  do  the  Scriptures,  justly  construed,  speak  any 
other  language.  They  command  us  indeed — but  it  is 
with  the  evident  language  of  strong  hyperbole — they 
command  us,  when  smitten  on  one  cheek,  to  turn  the 
other,  when  robbed  of  our  coat,  to  give  our  cloak,  when 
compelled  to  go  a  mile,  to  go  twain ;  and,  in  fine,  not 
resist  evil,  but  to  return  good  for  evil;  the  sum  of 
which  is,  that  we  are  not  to  retaliate  evil.  No  reason- 
able person  can  suppose  it  to  be  literally  meant,  that 
we  are  to  resist  not  at  all ;  that  when  a  rude  assailant 
thrusts  his  hand  in  our  face,  we  should  not  endeavor  to 
put  it  aside  ;  nay,  that  we  should  help  him  and  give  him 
every  facility,  to  work  his  brutal  will  upon  us.  Angry 
retaliation  is  forbidden,  not  mild  and  manly  self-de- 


ON    WAR.  237 

fence  ;  and  this  distinction  applies  alike  to  public  wars 
and  private  conflicts. 

In  the  next  place,  I  do  not  deny,  that  war  has  some- 
times developed  powerful  energies  and  heroic  virtues. 
They  furnish,  indeed,  but  a  slight  compensation  to  hu- 
manity, for  the  sufferings  of  its  slaughtered  millions, 
they  yield  but  a  poor  argument  for  war ;  yet  their  ex- 
istence is  not  to  be  denied.  The  advocates  of  peace, 
I  must  think,  have  been  too  anxious  to  brand  with  dis- 
honor, every  thing  connected  with  national  conflicts. 
Let  mere  mercenary  soldiership,  let  the  rage  of  brutal 
passions  in  a  battle,  let  the  ordinary  principles  of  mar- 
tial ambition,  be  given  up  to  their  reprobation.  But 
let  not  him  who  draws  the  sword  for  justice,  when 
nothing  else  can  secure  justice,  who  offers  his  life  for 
the  freedom  of  a  people,  when  no  meaner  sacrifice  on 
its  altar  will  suffice — let  not  him  be  denied  the  virtue 
of  heroism.  Let  not  him  who  firmly  takes  his  station 
before  an  invading  foe  ;  who  stands  forward,  and  of- 
fers his  breast  a  shield  for  helpless  age  and  infancy, 
and  the  sanctity  of  a  nation's  homes — let  not  him  be 
denied  the  praise  of  magnanimity.  Of  those,  indeed, 
who  make  war  their  trade  and  boast  and  pleasure,  a 
different  judgment  is  to  be  formed. 

But  if  a  hostile  army  were  landed  on  our  shores,  and 
I  saw  the  youth  of  a  peaceful  village  hurrying  from 
their  homes  to  prepare  for  the  dread  encounter  of 
arms ;  if  I  saw  them  mustering  on  some  green  spot, 
which  they  had  trodden  lightly  on  many  a  gay  and 
peaceful  holiday,  but  which  they  now  trod  with  the 
step  of  brave  and  beautiful  manhood — abjuring  all  soft- 
ness, all  fondness — girding  on  the  armor  of  battle — 
and  sadly  but  sternly  resolved  to  sacrifice  that  young 


238  ON    WAR. 

life  in  its  first  freshness,  to  save  their  household  altars 
from  violation — if  I  saw  them  stand  there,  as  they  have 
stood  in  the  valleys  of  Switzerland  and  on  the  plains 
of  America,  resolute  and  firm,  with  flushed  cheek  and 
unflinching  brow,  ready  to  do  what  God  and  their 
country  should  demand  of  them,  I  should  feel  that  I 
looked  upon  a  noble  spectacle.  And  when  that  good- 
ly band  returned  from  the  conflict,  broken,  alas  !  and 
shattered — loud  and  grateful  should  be  a  nation's  wel- 
come ;  and  green  should  be  the  sod  and  wet  with  pa- 
triot tears,  that  covered  the  fallen ;  and  high  should 
rise  the  monument  to  tell  to  other  days,  of  brave  men 
who  feared  not  to  die  for  justice  and  freedom !  Life 
indeed  is  dear,  and  the  probation  of  human  souls  is  not 
to  be  lightly  shortened  ;  but  we  are  not  to  forget  that 
that  probation  may  sometimes  be  wrought  out  through 
blood,  and  that  there  are  things  dearer  than  life — 
things,  to  which  life  may  be  well  sacrificed,  whether 
in  labors  of  philanthropy,  in  the  fires  of  martyrdom,  or 
in  the  strife  of  battle  ! 

These  are  qualifications  which  I  think  we  ought  to 
make  in  considering  the  subject  of  war.  It  is  not  of 
a  war  of  self-defence,  or  for  the  defence  of  freedom, 
that  I  am  about  to  speak ;  but  of  war  in  its  ordinary 
character,  where  the  impulse  is  mutual  national  hatred 
or  jealousy,  and  the  object  something  far  short  of  the 
freedom,  safety  or  essential  welfare  of  any  people. 
The  qualifications  I  have  made,  therefore,  will  very 
little  affect  the  general  estimate. 

To  that  estimate,  I  now  proceed,  and  particularly 
with  reference  to  its  bearing  upon  the  social  welfare 
of  mankind. 

But  I  wish  to  invite  your  attention,  in  the  first  place. 


ON    WAR.  239 

to  the  peculiar,  the  extraordinary  character  of  this  ter- 
rific dispensation  of  misery.  The  history  of  the  human 
race  presents  us  with  many  things  to  wonder  at,  with 
things  that  bear  the  character  of  extravagance,  absurd- 
ity, and  almost  of  insanity;  but  it  presents  us  with  no- 
thing so  amazing  as  the  system  of  war. 

It  appears,  sometimes,  in  surveying  this  part  of  his- 
tory, as  if  the  most  settled  and  established  principles 
were  failing  us ;  and  we  are  tempted  to  ask — Is  hu- 
man happiness  worth  the  price  at  which  it  is  common- 
ly estimated  ?     Is  it,  in  fact,  worth  any  thing  ? 

If  it  is,  what  are  we  to  think  of  a  vast  and  porten- 
tous science  and  system  ordained  for  its  destruction  ? 
Other  calamities  come  upon  us  by  means  that  are  in- 
direct and  unforeseen,  and  often  irresistible.  They  lie 
in  wait  for  us,  and  smite  us  unawares  ;  or  they  follow 
us  at  a  distance,  and  overtake  us  at  an  hour  when  we 
think  not.  They  steal  upon  the  path  of  indolence ; 
they  rush  upon  the  footsteps  of  improvidence ;  they 
overwhelm  the  victim  of  indulgence  in  the  very  house, 
the  guarded  home  of  his  pleasures.  But  what  destroy- 
ing power,  what  angel  of  death,  besides  war,  has  gone 
forth  in  the  sight  of  all  men,  and  marked  and  measured 
out  the  field  of  destruction,  and  bared  the  human  breast, 
shrinking,  as  it  naturally  does,  from  every  wound — 
bared  it  to  a  shock  like  that  of  battle  ? 

Other  evils  there  are,  and  enough  of  them,  to  which 
the  human  race  must  submit.  They  lurk  in  the  tainted 
breeze  and  in  the  most  secret  channels  of  life,  in  pains 
which  no  weapon  inflicts,  and  in  sufferings  which  no 
sympathy  can  relieve.     But  war  is  like  none  of  these. 

And  even  of  those  calamities  which  men  bring  upon 
themselves,  not  one,  in  the  treatment  of  it,  bears  any 


240  ON    WAR. 

comparison  with  this.  The  cup  of  excess  has,  indeed, 
slain  as  many  as  the  sword  of  violence.  But  when  was 
ever  a  sijstem  devised,  to  facilitate  and  extend  the  rav- 
ages of  intemperance  ?  When  was  ever  a  book  writ- 
ten, when  did  human  ingenuity  ever  deliberately  set 
itself  to  plan  the  means  by  which  intemperance  could 
kill  the  greatest  number ;  by  which  it  could  inflict  a 
yet  more  insufferable  degradation  ;  by  which  it  would 
widen  and  deepen  the  tide  of  misery  ?  Nay,  and  even 
in  those  cases  where  mischief  and  misery  have  been 
reduced  to  a  system  and  trade,  the  system  has  been 
taught,  and  the  trade  has  been  carried  on,  silently  and 
secretly.  Gaming-houses,  and  houses  of  yet  darker 
ignominy,  have  been  builded,it  is  true,  and  books  have 
been  written,  to  teach  the  desperate  practice  of  the 
one,  or  to  lure  to  the  deadly  haunts  of  the  other ;  but 
over  all  these  works  of  darkness,  a  veil  like  that  of 
midnight  has  been  drawn,  to  hide  them  from  the  pub- 
lic eye. 

But  there  is  one  theatre,  where  death  stands  unveil- 
ed, and  "  destruction  has  no  covering ;"  where  they  do 
their  fearful  work,  not  only  designedly  but  openly ;  and 
with  such  credit,  too,  that  that  theatre  is  called  the 
field  of  honor.  There,  men  are  not  only  destroyed  in 
troops,  in  battalions  and  armies,  but  they  are  destroy- 
ed by  system,  and  killed  by  science.  Yes,  and  for  this 
field,  weapons  are  skilfully  prepared,  and  actors  are 
adroitly  trained ;  and  that,  too,  at  establishments  which, 
even  in  a  time  of  peace,  cost  tenfold  more  than  all  the 
universities  and  hospitals  and  beneficent  asylums  in 
the  world.  War,  in  fact,  is  among  the  recognized  arts 
that  engage  the  attention  of  mankind.  But  while,  of 
all  other  arts,  the  design  is,  to  save  and  to  bless,  to  im- 


ON   WAR.  241 

prove  and  to  delight ;  this  is  emphatically  the  art  of 
destruction ;  to  crush  and  to  kill,  to  lay  waste  king- 
doms, to  spread  havoc  and  distress  among  nations — 
this  is  its  chosen  work.  Were  the  art  brought  to  still 
greater  perfection,  to  that  horrible  perfection  indicated 
by  some  late  experiments,  and  were  some  machinery, 
some  "  infernal  engine"  invented,  by  whose  tremendous 
discharge  a  whole  army  might  be  destroyed  in  a  mo- 
ment, success  in  tactics  like  this,  might  open  the  eyes 
of  the  world  to  the  enormity  of  the  martial  principle. 
Then  might  war,  at  last,  after  having  for  ages  ranged 
through  the  earth,  desolating  empires  and  destroying 
generations,  become  its  own  destroyer. 

But  no  such  fortunate  catastrophe  has  yet  come. 
Still  war  rages,  with  a  violence  only  too  impotent 
either  to  satisfy  the  passions  of  men  on  the  one  hand, 
or,  on  the  other,  to  destroy  itself.  If  we  must  judge 
from  the  history  of  the  last  fifty  years,  civilization  has 
not  weakened  its  power.  If  it  has  done  something  to 
tame  the  fierceness  of  anger  and  revenge,  it  has  more 
than  balanced  the  account  by  the  invention  of  deadlier 
engines.  Europe  never  saw  such  bloody  fields  of  bat- 
tle, as  within  the  last  fifty  years. 

But  let  us  further  and  more  distinctly,  contemplate 
the  immediate  evils  and  sufferings  produced  by  war. 
The  great  difficulty  about  this  subject  is,  that  no  such 
contemplation  is  likely  to  be  given  to  it.  Nobody 
seems  to  stand  in  the  relation  to  it  which  is  necessary 
to  a  fair  and  full  estimate.  From  those  engaged  in 
war,  blinded  or  absorbed  by  it,  its  true  character  is 
hidden ;  and  to  those  in  the  bosom  of  peace,  the  con- 
templation of  bloody  conflicts  and  routed  armies  is 
scarcely  more  affecting,  than  to  behold  the  dashing 
21 


242  ON   WAR. 

clouds  and  broken  fragments  of  a  dispersing  storm  in 
the  sky ;  it  is  far  off,  and  belongs  to  another  element. 
But  let  a  man  bring  home  to  him  one  single  instance 
from  that  awful  and  uncounted  aggregate  of  horrors, 
and  how  can  he  be  unmoved  by  it !  Death !  come 
when  and  where  it  may,  be  it  on  the  bed  of  down,  or 
on  the  supporting  bosom  of  affection — it  is  an  awful 
visitation.  The  agonies  and  shudderings  of  nature 
proclaim  it  to  be  the  great  trial-hour  of  human  desti- 
ny. But  that  hour,  in  the  hot  assault,  or  amidst  the 
lingering  agonies  of  the  battle-field,  or  where  the  groans 
of  the  crowded  hospital  are  its  harbingers — how  does 
it  come  ?  No  pillow  of  down,  no  supporting  arms  are 
there,  to  receive  the  victim ;  no  kind  voice  speaks  to 
him;  no  noiseless  step  of  affection  approaches,  nor 
looks  of  love  hang  over  him,  like  a  pitying  angel's  coun- 
tenance ;  but  he  goes  down — man  as  he  is,  with  all  a 
man's  sensibility,  it  may  be — with  all  a  man's  ties  to 
earthly  home  and  love — he  goes  down  amidst  groans 
and  execrations  and  horrors,  darker  than  the  shadow 
of  death  that  is  passing  over  him.  This  is  but  one 
death,  such  as  war  visits  upon  the  human  race,  and  yet 
it  would  not  be  in  human  nature  actually  to  witness 
one  such  instance,  without  the  most  agonizing  desire 
to  afford  relief.  But  now  what  facts  are  those,  which 
the  history  of  war  unfolds  to  us  !  The  single  campaign 
of  Bonaparte  in  Russia,  carried  death,  and  such  death, 
not  to  one  thousand,  nor  to  five  thousand,  nor  to  fifty 
thousand,  but  to  five  hundred  thousand  human  beings. 
Alexander  and  Cesar,  it  is  computed,  caused,  each  of 
them,  the  death  of  two  millions  of  the  human  race  ; 
and  the  wars  of  Bonaparte  bring  up  the  whole  num- 
ber of  victims  sacrificed  to  the  ambition  of  three 


ON    WAR.  243 

men,  to  six  millions  !  Let  us  look  at  it.  Six  millions 
of  human  beings  ! — the  aged,  the  young,  the  manly  and 
strong,  the  fair  and  lovely,  the  imploring  mother,  the 
innocent  child — and  death,  dealt  to  each  one,  without 
discrimination  and  without  mercy  !  Six  millions  ! — a 
number  equal  to  half  the  population  of  this  whole  coun- 
try. Strike  off,  then,  half  of  the  territory  and  people 
of  this  fair  and  happy  land,  and  suppose  them  to  be 
sacrificed  one  by  one,  their  possessions,  their  goods  and 
their  lives,  with  every  species  of  cruelty  and  insult,  and 
with  the  perpetration  of  every  nameless  horror ;  and 
to  whom  sacrificed  ?  To  but  three  ministers  in  the 
dark  kingdom  of  war !  But  this  is  only  an  item,  a  sin- 
gle passage  in  the  history  of  its  fearful  dominion. 
There  have  been  in  Christendom,  since  the  reign  of 
Constantine,  nearly  three  hundred  wars!*  What  a 
mass  of  calamities,  of  rapine  and  violence,  of  crime 
and  misery,  is  included  within  the  brief  description  of 
these  three  wrords — what  waste  of  the  treasures  of  na- 
tions, what  wo  in  the  abodes  of  millions,  it  passes  all 
human  power  to  calculate.  But  all  this,  nevertheless, 
has  been  experienced,  though  it  cannot  be  calculated 
or  imagined.  Human  hearts  have  felt  it  all.  Not  one 
drop  of  this  ocean  of  ills,  but  has  fallen,  a  burning  drop, 
upon  nerves  and  fibres  that  have  quivered  with  agony 
at  its  touch.  Fourteen  centuries  of  war,  and  thous- 
ands of  bloody  battles,  recorded  in  that  brief  descrip- 
tion, are  but  the  record  of  human,  of  individual  sorrows 
and  tears  and  groans. 

I  wish  it  were  possible  for  me  to  make  the  case 
more  apparent  and  palpable.     That  beings,  possessed 

*  See  Third  Report  of  the  Committee  of  Inquiry  instituted 
by  the  Massachusetts  Peace  Society. 


244  ox  war. 

with  the  most  exquisite  sensibility  to  grief  and  pain, 
should  be  able  to  look  on,  calmly  or  patiently,  while 
such  things  are  done  and  suffered,  only  proves  that 
the  reality  of  the  evil  is  lost  to  them  in  its  vastness. 
Any  wound  inflicted  in  our  sight,  any  pain  depicted  in 
the  countenance  of  another,  "  any  annoyance"  in  any 
"  precious  sense,"  fills  us  with  solicitude  and  sympathy. 
The  mother,  in  the  midnight  hour,  steals  to  the  couch 
of  her  child,  if  but  a  harder  breathing  invade  "  the  in- 
nocent sleep."  The  child  hangs  over  the  couch  of  in- 
firm and  reverend  age,  with  a  filial  piety  that  counts 
every  pain,  as  an  holy  thing.  The  friend  sits  through 
the  live-long  night,  with  watchful  eye  and  ear,  to  anti- 
cipate the  slightest  want  of  a  sick  and  suffering  asso- 
ciate. These  are  but  the  dictates  of  humanity.  Where 
are  those  dictates,  when  a  system  is  fostered  and  hon- 
ored in  the  world,  which  tears  shrieking  children  from 
their  arms  to  be  murdered  by  a  brutal  soldiery,  which 
tramples  the  aged  and  venerable  head  beneath  the  feet 
of  lawless  strangers,  and  from  whose  wide  theatre  are 
for  ever  rising  groans  that  are  unpitied,  and  cries  that 
bring  no  aid.  "  On  one  side,"  says  an  eye-witness  to 
the  horrors  of  the  sack  of  Moscow,  in  1812,  "on  one 
side,  we  saw  a  son  carrying  a  sick  father ;  on  the  oth- 
er, women  who  poured  the  torrent  of  their  tears  on  the 
infants  whom  they  clasped  in  their  arms.  Old  men 
overwhelmed  by  grief  still  more  than  by  years,  weep- 
ing for  the  ruin  of  their  country,  lay  down  to  die,  near 
the  houses  where  they  were  born.  No  respect  was 
paid  to  the  nobility  of  blood,  to  the  innocence  of  youth, 
or  to  the  tears  of  beauty."* — "  It  is  impossible,"  says 
another  eye-witness,  one  who  saw  the  wounded  in  the 

*  Labaume,  p.  209  and  213. 


ON    WAR.  245 

hospitals  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  "  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  of  their  sufferings.  Turn  which  way  I 
might,  I  encountered  every  form  of  entreaty  from  those, 
whose  condition  left  no  need  of  words,  to  stir  compas- 
sion. I  know  not,"  he  says,  "  what  notions  my  feeling 
countrymen  have  of  thirty  thousand  wounded  men, 
thrown  into  a  town  and  its  environs.  They  still  their 
compassionate  emotions,  by  subscriptions  ;  but  what 
avails  this  to  those,  who  would  exchange  gold  for  a  bit 
of  rag  to  bind  up  their  smarting  wounds.  My  heart 
sickens  at  the  contemplation,"  he  says  in  conclusion, 
"  and  I  am  obliged  to  turn  away  from  this  picture  of 
human  misery,  caused  by  pride,  ambition,  a  love  of 
military  glory,  and  the  folly  of  mankind  in  paying  ado- 
ration to  their  destroyers.  Would  not  angels  weep 
at  such  a  scene  as  this  ?  But  is  this  all  ?  Ah !  no. 
Each  of  these  dead  or  wounded  soldiers  had  a  mother, 
who  had  watched  over  his  cradle,  and  had  attended 
him  in  his  sickness,  and  shed  over  him  the  tears  of  ma- 
ternal solicitude.  Many  had  wives  and  lovers,  to 
whom  they  were  dearer  than  the  light  of  the  sun.  Ma- 
ny had  children,  who  looked  to  them  for  support  and 
protection.  We  may  rationally  suppose,  that  for  every 
man  who  was  killed  or  wounded  in  this  deadly  con- 
flict, the  hearts  of  at  least  ten  persons — parents,  wives, 
children,  brothers  and  sisters — were  lacerated.  Oh  ! 
what  hecatombs  of  sacrifices  on  the  bloody  altar  of 
Moloch  !  How  long  will  mankind  continue  to  be  acces- 
sary to  such  crimes,  by  bestowing  praises  upon  their  per- 
petrators \  How  long  will  it  be,  ere  every  human  being 
will  deem  it  his  imperious  and  solemn  duty,  to  dissemi- 
nate the  principles  of  Peace  and  extend  her  empire  !"* 

*  Charles  Bell. 
21* 


246  ON   WAR. 

But  let  us  pass  now  from  immediate  evils  to  those 
which,  although  more  remote,  are  not  less  destructive 
to  the  welfare  of  society. 

In  contemplating  the  progress  of  civilization,  there 
is  one  fact,  which  deserves  more  attention,  I  appre- 
hend, than  it  has  yet  received  ;  and  that  is  the  severi- 
ty of  human  labor.  The  advancement  of  society  from 
a  state  of  barbarism  is,  of  course,  marked  by  grow- 
ing and  more  regular  industry.  To  a  certain  extent, 
this  is,  doubtless,  natural,  and  accordant  with  the  de- 
signs of  Providence  and  the  general  welfare  of  men. 
But  there  is  a  point  beyond  which  labor  is  not  good 
and  ought  not  to  be  necessary  ;  and  that  the  condition 
of  multitudes,  both  in  Europe  and  America,  is  far  be- 
yond this  point,  cannot,  I  think,  be  doubted.  It  has 
been  maintained,  on  a  careful  calculation,  that  all:  the 
conveniences  of  civilized  life  might  be  produced,  if  so- 
ciety would  divide  the  labor  equally  among  its  mem- 
bers, by  each  individual  being  employed  in  labor  two 
hours  during  the  day.*  I  will  not  undertake  to  say 
whether  this  estimate  is  correct ;  but  I  am  certain  that 
ten,  twelve  and  fourteen  hours,  each  day,  of  hard  work, 
cannot  be  necessary  to  the  proper  ends  of  society,  in 
its  natural  and  healthful  state.  Yet  this  is  what  is  re- 
quired of  the  mass  not  only  of  adult  laborers,  but  of 
their  children  too,  in  many  cases,  barely  to  support 
life.  The  effects,  especially,  in  the  manufacturing  dis^ 
tricts  of  Europe,  are  most  deplorable.  The  evidence 
on  this  point,  before  the  British  parliament,  three  or 
four  years  since,  presented  a  picture  of  desolating  and 
crushing  toil,  and  especially  of  children,  pale,  emacia-> 

*  GoocUyin's  Political  Justice. 


ON    WAR.  247 

ted,  trembling  from  exhaustion,  and  bereft  of  every 
trait  of  childhood,  and  almost  of  humanity,  that  was 
enough  to  make  the  heart  sick  with  the  contemplation  ; 
and  all  the  mitigation  that  the  wisdom  and  generosity 
of  a  great  people  could  devise  for  these  helpless  and 
miserable  beings,  cursed — I  had  almost  said — coned 
with  existence,  was,  that  they  should  not  be  compelled 
under  the  age  of  sixteen,  to  work  more  than  ten  hours 
a  day.  But  the  evil  of  excessive  toil,  is  not  confined 
to  the  manufactories.  No»one  can  travel  through  the 
agricultural  districts  of  Europe  generally,  without  see- 
ing that  it  is  not  only  in  "the  sweat  of  his  brow,"  but 
in  the  sadness  of  his  brow,  that  man  earns  his  bread. 
The  pressure  is,  doubtless,  lighter  in  this  country,  but 
still,  I  believe,  it  is  too  hard.  I  concern  myself  here 
with  no  questions  about  combinations  of  laborers,  to 
diminish  the  hours  of  work ;  I  do  not  undertake  to  say, 
what  may  be  necessary  or  right,  in  the  existing  state 
of  things ;  but  speaking  in  general,  of  what  I  conceive 
to  be  the  intentions  of  Providence  and  the  capacities 
of  man,  I  aver  with  confidence,  that  there  is  more  hard 
labor  in  this  country,  than  consists  with  the  true  wel- 
fare and  improvement  of  society. 

If  this  could  be  doubted,  it  would  be  sufficient  to  say* 
and  this  is  the  point  to  which  I  wish  to  come,  that  there 
are  causes  in  operation  enhancing  human  toil,  which 
are  immense,  which  are  unnatural,  and  which  never 
ought  to  have  existed.  Passing  by  others,  my  busi- 
ness now  is,  to  consider  a  single  cause — the  burthen 
of  debt,  that  is  to  say,  which  past  wars  have  accumu- 
lated upon  the  present  generation,  and  upon  many,  we 
may  add,  that  are  to  come  after  it. 

War  subtracts  from  the  amount  of  productive  labor, 


248  ON   WAR. 

the  strength  of  all  who  are  engaged  in  its  actual  ser- 
vice, and  of  all  who  are  engaged  in  providing  arms 
and  munitions  for  it.  In  barbarous  ages,  when  na- 
tions fought  out  their  own  battles  and  so  finished  the 
account,  this  was  only  a  loss  to  the  nation  and  to  the 
world,  for  the  time  being.  But  in  process  of  time,  men 
found  that  they  could  not  fight  enough  on  their  own 
account,  and  they  brought  in  the  resources  of  after 
times  to  assist  them.  It  was  left  for  the  progress  of 
civilization,  to  fall  upon  the  Expedient  of  creating  na- 
tional debts  ;  that  is,  of  hiring  out  the  labor  of  posteri- 
ty to  pay  the  price  of  blood.  Some  idea  of  the  ex- 
tent of  this  tremendous  assessment,  may  be  formed 
from  a  single  item.  The  wars  which  grew  out  of  the 
French  Revolution,  commencing  in  1793  and  ending 
in  1815,  cost  Great  Britain  alone,  eleven  hundred  mil- 
lions of  pounds  sterling  ;*  and  a  large  proportion  of 
this  stupendous  amount  now  exists  in  the  form  of  a 
national  debt,  and  the  interest  of  it  is  annually  levied 
upon  the  entire  industry  of  the  kingdom.  In  addition 
to  this,  England  and  all  Europe  are  supporting  im- 
mense standing  armies.  Go  where  you  will,  and  the 
soldier  presents  himself — a  cormorant  that  is  eating  up 
the  substance  of  the  land,  and  adding  nothing  to  its  re- 
sources. There  he  stands,  idly  leaning  against  some 
bastion  or  gate-way,  while  the  farmer  in  the  neighbor- 
ing field,  must  redouble  his  labors  to  support  him.  I 
complain  not  of  the  soldier,  who  is,  after  all,  the  most 
miserable  of  these  parties ;  insomuch,  that  I  have 
heard  it  stated,  as  the  opinion  of  a  distinguished  mili- 
tary commander  in  Europe,  that  war  itself  is  not  so 

*  Lowe's  Present  State  of  England. 


ON   WAR,  249 

fatal  to  life  as  peace — that  ennui  destroys  more  men 
than  the  sword  ;  I  do  not  complain,  then,  of  the  sol- 
dier who  is  the  creature  of  the  state  ;  I  do  not  com- 
plain of  the  state  which  is,  .perhaps,  obliged  thus  to 
stand  on  its  defence  ;  but  I  charge  the  system,  the  war- 
system,  which  taxes  and  tasks  the  industry  of  one  part 
of  the  world  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  the  other, 
with  stupendous  injustice  and  folly. 

Let  us  dwell  a  moment  longer,  on  the  extent  and 
nature  of  this  taxation. 

War  appears  to  be  far  off  from  us  ;  and  it  is  far  off 
from  most  men ;  for  the  field  of  actual  military  oper- 
ations, in  almost  any  country,  is  comparatively  small. 
A  battle  is  fought  at  a  distance,  and  the  groan  that  it 
sends  through  the  world  soon  dies  away ;  and  men 
think  of  it  no  more,  but  as  a  matter  of  history — a 
matter  with  which  they  have  no  concern.  They  for- 
get that  the  war,  the  battle,  comes  to  them  in  another 
shape,  in  the  form  of  burthensome  imposts  ;  that  it 
comes  and  writes  its  account  on  every  threshold,  and 
on  every  table  whether  rich  or  poor,  in  the  civilized 
world.  For  every  article,  whether  of  convenience  or 
luxury,  which  is  produced  in  Europe,  the  consumer, 
of  whatever  country,  is  obliged  not  only  to  remuner- 
ate the  labor  employed  upon  it,  but  to  pay  a  heavy 
additional  per  cent  in  taxes  ;  and  far  the  largest  por- 
tion of  these  taxes  are  levied  by  the  military  system. 
The  language  of  every  military  government,  not  only 
to  its  own  citizens,  but  to  all  the  world  is  this  ;  "  you 
must  not  only  pay  the  industrious  among  us,  but  you 
must  help  to  support  our  idle  and  expensive  soldiery ;" 
that  is  to  say,  "  you  must  work  harder,  because  we 
have  a  great  many  among  us  who  do  not  work,  and 


250  ON    WAR. 

then,  too,  they  must  have  arms  and  munitions  and  for- 
tifications, which  is  another  heavy  item  in  the  account." 
"  Does  this  taxation  do  us  any  good  ?"  the  world  asks. 
And  the  answer  is,  "  none  at  all."  It  contributes  not 
to  the  manufacture  of  any  necessaries  or  comforts  or 
luxuries  of  life,  but  only  to  the  fabrication  of  warlike 
weapons — of  "  cold  and  bare  steel " — of  that  which 
gives  you  nothing  to  eat  nor  to  drink,  nor  to  wear,  nor 
to  employ  for  any  useful  purpose.  And  again,  it  con- 
tributes nothing  to  the  support  of  any  useful  class — of 
learned  men,  or  instructors  of  the  people,  or  artists  to 
delight  them ;  but  only  to  the  training  of  an  order  of 
men,  who  for  your  pains  may,  any  day,  be  turned  upon 
you  like  tigers  and  bloodhounds,  to  rend  and  tear  you 
in  pieces.  And  now  look  at  the  pressure  of  this  sys- 
tem. It  is  a  burthen  upon  every  thing  to  which  men 
can  attach  value.  It  is  a  tax  upon  all  the  possessions 
and  pleasures  of  life,  upon  food  and  raiment,  upon 
every  element  of  nature,  upon  the  very  light  of  heav- 
en. It  presses  upon  you,  and  upon  me.  But  for  this, 
our  labors  might  contribute  in  much  greater  measure 
to  our  comfort  and  independence  ;  in  a  measure  very 
seriously  and  sensibly  affecting  the  happiness  of  our 
lives.  It  is  a  burthen  which  presses  heavily  on  the 
rich ;  it  is  a  burthen  which  crushes  the  poor.  It  is 
urging  universal  toil  to  excess  ;  it  is  grinding  thousands 
and  millions  down  to  the  dust :  and  in  this  way,  per- 
haps, it  has  occasioned  more  of  the  extraordinary  in- 
temperance of  modern  times,  than  any  other  cause, 
If  this  tax  were  direct  and  specific,  if  it  were  not  cov- 
ered up  under  the  names  of  excise  and  impost  and 
revenue ;  if  it  were,  in  so  many  words,  a  war-tax,  it 
would  speak  a  language  to  which  the  world  could  not 


ON    WAR.  251 

be  indifferent.  It  would  be  a  voice  of  blood  crying 
from  the  earth  and  air,  from  sea  and  land,  to  which 
men  could  not  close  their  ears. 

But  consider  for  one  moment  longer,  I  beseech  you, 
the  nature  of  this  assessment.  In  the  name  of  heaven, 
I  solemnly  ask,  what  are  its  conditions?  What  is  the 
tenor  of  the  bond,  that  is  to  settle  up  the  account  of  an 
expensive  war  ?  A  mighty  debt  is  incurred ;  and  it 
presses  upon  the  already  hard  and  exhausting  labor  of 
thousands  and  ten  thousands,  with  vexatious  and  wear- 
ing importunity.  What  is  the  valuable  consideration 
which  is  to  reconcile  to  their  lot,  the  worn  and  weary 
victims  of  this  toil  and  poverty  ?  What  is  the  language 
to  them  of  the  war-system  ?  It  says  to  them — this  is 
what  it  says — "  I  will  raze  to  the  ground  your  pleasant 
habitations ;  I  will  slay  your  sons  in  battle  ;  I  will  give 
up  your  daughters  to  accursed  violation ;  I  will  spare 
no  store  of  your  gains,  no  treasure  of  your  hearts,  no 
delight  of  your  eyes ;  and  when  I  have  done  all  this, 
you  shall  pay  me  for  what  I  have  done  ;  and  to  satis- 
fy the  debt,  you  shall  come  under  bondage  to  me,  for 
a  portion  of  every  day,  during  the  remainder  of  your 
lives.  Nay,  and  more  than  this  shall  you  give  ;  more 
than  the  toil  of  your  weary  limbs  and  the  sweat  of  your 
aching  brow.  The  light  from  your  window,  and  the 
pottage  from  your  cold  hearth ;  the  sorrow  of  your 
suffering  wives  and  children,  the  tears  of  your  half- 
clad  and  starving  families,  shall  you  give  to  pay  the 
mighty  debt." 

It  is  sometimes  asked,  whether  wars  can  ever  be 
done  away.  I  would  ask  in  return,  if  the  very  argu- 
ment I  have  now  used  does  not  show  that  they  can, 
and  must,  and  shall  be  done  away. 


252  ON   WAR. 

There  is,  I  know,  a  vague  and  dreamy  notion  pos- 
sessing some  minds,  that  war,  somehow  or  other,  is  a 
matter  of  necessity,  that  it  results  from  the  ordination 
of  nature,  that  the  law  of  force  is  the  law  of  the  whole 
creation,  and  must  be  submitted  to.  Among  animals, 
they  say,  the  stronger  destroys  the  weaker,  and  man 
but  conforms  to  the  principle.  But  the  instance  of 
animal  natures  comes  far  short  of  supporting  this  argu- 
ment. The  animal  destroys  when  and  where,  he  has 
need  of  food  ;  and  when  he  destroys  without  this  mo- 
tive, he  is  accounted  mad.  But  what  should  we  think, 
if  the  animals  of  one  whole  country  were  banded  in 
battle  array  against  those  of  another?  The  world 
would  stand  aghast  at  such  madness,  seizing  the  tribes 
of  irrational  creatures.  And  yet,  what  in  them,  would 
be  a  horrible  madness,  is,  in  man,  honor,  courage,  skill ; 
nay  more,  and  is  held  to  be  among  the  necessary  and 
irresistible  tendencies  of  his  nature. 

"  But,"  it  may  be  said,  "  whether  natural  and  neces- 
sary or  not,  war  has  always  existed ;  it  has  been  in 
the  world,  since  the  creation ;  it  has  become  the  habit 
of  the  world ;  and  it  cannot  be  done  away.  There 
will  always  be  national  controversies ;  there  will  al- 
ways be  selfish  and  vindictive  passions  at  work  in  the 
human  breast ;  and,  in  short,  while  man  is  man,  there 
will  always  be  war." 

Do  we  live  in  an  age,  when  the  antiquity  of  an  evil 
is  held  to  be  a  good  argument  for  its  perpetuity  ?  Ar- 
bitrary rule,  despotism,  in  one  form  or  another,  is  as 
old  as  the  world.  The  slave-trade  has  existed  for 
ages.  The  most  ancient  histories,  are  histories  of  ig- 
norance and  barbarism.  Does  the  world  sit  down, 
and  quietly  acquiesce   in  the  conclusion  that  these 


ON   WAR.  253 

tilings  must  exist  for  ever  ?  Civilization  itself  must 
have  been  held  in  check,  by  such  a  fatal  concession  to 
antiquity. 

Civilization  is  advancing  ;  it  has  as  yet,  by  no  means, 
reached  its  limit.  Is  not  this  a  sufficient  answer  to  the 
whole  argument  ?  One  barbarous  custom  after  anoth- 
er has  yielded  to  the  progress  of  knowledge  ;  why 
may  not  war,  like  the  tournament  and  the  ordeal  by 
fire,  cease  to  engage  the  respect  of  mankind  ?  The 
habits  of  the  world  are  not  too  strong  to  be  contro- 
verted and  corrected.  But  there  is  another  point  on 
which  I  intended  especially  to  insist.  There  is  one 
habit  of  the  world,  signalizing  more  than  any  other  the 
present  age,  which,  if  it  continues  to  gain  strength,  is 
almost  certain  to  effect,  sooner  or  later,  the  abolition 
of  war.  And  that  is  the  habit,  which  the  people  of 
all  civilized  countries  are  now  acquiring,  of  looking  so- 
berly and  steadfastly  to  their  own  real  interests.  Let 
them  look  at  these,  and  resolutely  pursue  them,  and 
they  must  ere  long  banish  the  horrible  custom  which, 
every  century,  costs  the  lives  of  millions,  and  brings 
distress  and  anguish  upon  millions  more.  War  may 
be  the  interest  of  ambitious  rulers,  but  it  never  can  be 
the  interest  of  the  body  of  the  people. 

In  connection  with  this  point,  let  it  be  distinctly  con- 
sidered, that  public  opinion  is  becoming  the  grand  and 
paramount  law  of  nations.  It  has  always  had  great 
force.  It  has  had  great  force  even  in  the  most  des- 
potic states.  But  what  distinguishes  the  present  crisis 
is,  that  public  opinion  is  becoming  the  absolute  and 
universal  law.  The  aim  of  all  liberal  minds,  every 
where,  is  to  make  government  the  very  expression  of 
an  enlightened  public  opinion.     So  it  ought  to  be. 

22 


254  ON    WAR. 

They  ought  to  be  represented  by  a  government,  their 
feelings  and  wishes  ought  to  be  respected,  whose  in- 
terests, whose  life  and  property  and  happiness,  are 
intrusted  to  that  government  to  be  benefited  or  injured 
by  it.  They  ought  to  judge,  their  opinion  ought  to 
prevail,  who  are  themselves  the  parties  interested.  But, 
now,  what  is  public  opinion  1  Not  the  opinion  of  ru- 
lers, not  the  opinion  of  military  men,  nor  the  opinion 
of  a  few  whose  interest  it  might  be,  or  rather  who 
might  think  it  their  interest,  to  plunge  a  nation  into 
war ;  but  it  is  the  collected  opinion  of  the  whole  mass 
of  a  people  ;  it  is  an  opinion  to  which  both  sexes  con- 
tribute an  influence,  which  springs  from  all  the  rela- 
tions and  endearments  of  society ;  it  is  an  opinion, 
whose  dwelling  is  the  happy  home,  whose  altar  is  the 
domestic  hearth-stone.  And  is  it  possible,  when  this 
public  opinion  arrives  at  its  proper  ascendancy,  that 
nations  shall  wish  to  lay  open  their  peaceful  villages 
and  their  happy  homes  to  the  invasion  of  fire  and 
sword,  and  all  the  horrors  of  war  ?  Is  it  possible,  that 
they  will  ohoose  to  suffer  all  this  to  gratify  an  insane, 
unnatural  and  merciless  ambition — which  builds  itself 
up  upon  their  destruction ;  whose  monuments  are 
heaps  of  the  slain  ;  whose  tower  of  pride  is  built  of 
human  bones,  and  cemented  with  the  blood  of  breth- 
ren and  the  tears  of  widows  and  orphans ;  whose 
shrine  of  glory,  like  that  of  Moloch,  for  ever  demands 
human — none  but  human  victims?  Can  men,  when 
once  they  begin  to  think,  bear  all  this,  and  above  all 
can  they  bear  it,  when  they  see  that  it  answers  no  use- 
ful purpose,  when  they  find  that  negociation  is  just  as 
necessary  after  the  conflict  as  it  was  before,  when  they 
find  that  nothing  is  gained  for  abstract  justice,  and 


ON    WAR.  255 

every  thing  is  lost  to  social  life,  to  vital  prosperity,  to 
domestic  happiness.  Look  at  two  nations  dwelling 
in  amity  with  each  other ;  each  land  filled  with  cities 
and  temples,  with  smiling  villages  and  peaceful  dwell- 
ings, the  homes  of  centuries.  Behold  the  thousand 
paths  of  industry  and  enjoyment,  whether  upon  the 
hill-side  or  upon  the  gliding  river's  bosom,  thronged 
with  the  prosperous  and  happy.  Hear  the  song  of  the 
reaper  in  the  harvest-field  answering  joyously  to  the 
call  of  the  herdsman  in  the  pasture  ;  and  if  a  sigh 
ariseth  by  the  way-side,  mark  the  ready  ear  of  the  kind 
and  gentle  to  listen  to  it.  Survey,  in  short,  the  lot, 
and  be  it,  that  it  is  the  mingled  lot  of  life,  joyous  or 
sad.  but  ever  dear  and  holy.  Trace,  in  fine,  the  in- 
visible bond  of  sympathy,  that  binds  home  to  home 
and  heart  to  heart,  and  gaze  upon  the  broad  land  and 
its  many  shores,  where  the  light  of  Peace  falls  upon 
every  field  and  every  wave  to  hallow  it,  as  it  were,  with 
the  serenest  and  the  sweetest  smile  of  heaven.  Now, 
I  ask,  if,  for  a  controversy  about  a  tract  of  land,  or  a 
contested  right  in  a  fishery,  or  an  affront  offered  to  an 
ambassador,  the  people  of  these  countries — not  their 
rulers  as  independent  of  them — but  if  the  people,  ex- 
pressing their  will  through  governments  of  their  own 
choice,  can  be  disposed  to  enter  into  war ;  to  drive  the 
ploughshare  of  ruin,  through  all  these  peaceful  and 
happy  scenes  ;  to  turn  the  joyous  songs  of  ten  thous- 
and dwellings  into  sighing  and  wailing ;  to  plant  the 
bloody  step  on  every  green  turf,  and  to  thrust  the  viola- 
ting hand  into  the  retreats  of  every  domestic  sanctuary. 
It  cannot  be.  Men  cannot  be  for  ever  so  insane,  as  to 
treat  their  dearest  interests  in  this  manner.  At  any 
rate,  if  the  tendencies  of  public  sentiment,  at  this  day, 


256  OK    WAR, 

hold  out  any  warrant,  if  the  hopes  of  philanthropy  and 
piety  are  not  mere  illusions,  if  the  ways  of  God's  prov- 
idence are  not  darkened  with  a  cloud  that  is  never  to 
clear  up,  the  time  must  come,  the  time  will  come,  when 
wars  will  cease. 

As  certainly  as  popular  governments  are  to  rise  in 
the  world,  wars  are  to  decline.  And  they  are  to  rise  : 
I  say  not  in  what  form,  but  in  some  form  by  which 
they  shall  express  the  will  of  the  people.  If  there 
ever  was  a  tendency  in  human  affairs,  the  tendency  of 
all  opinion,  of  all  moral  action,  of  all  instruments  and 
agencies  in  the  world,  is  to  this  result.  And  when  it 
is  obtained,  it  may  be  relied  on  for  the  establishment 
of  some  new  and  more  rational  mode  of  settling  na- 
tional controversies.  I  say  not  what  it  may  be  in  form. 
It  may  be  by  arbitration,  by  resorting  to  umpires,  or  by 
creating  a  Court  of  Nations.  But  whatever  be  the 
mode,  I  look  to  an  intelligent  and  moral  public  opinion 
for  the  fulfilment  of  that  great  prophecy,  that  men 
u  shall  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares,  and  their 
spears  into  pruning-hooks,  that  nation  shall  not  lift  up 
sword  against  nation,  and  they  shall  learn  war  no 
more." 


257 


DISCOURSE   XI 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 


PROVERBS  XIV.  34.     Righteousness  exalteth  a  nation, 

BUT    SIN   IS   A    REPROACH    TO   AN  If   PEOPLE. 

There  is  a  branch  of  morality,  seldom  discussed  in 
the  pulpit,  too  seldom  discussed  out  of  it,  which  I  shall 
propose  for  your  consideration  this  evening ;  it  is  po- 
litical morality.  It  will  not  be  thought,  I  trust,  that 
any  apology  is  due  from  the  pulpit  for  taking  up  this 
subject.  If  the  duty  which  one  man  owes  to  another, 
then  the  duty  which  each  man  owes  to  a  whole  coun- 
try, is  worthy  of  the  most  religious  consideration :  and 
the  more  so,  because  it  is  not  only  an  important  but  a 
neglected  subject. 

Indeed,  one  is  tempted  to  ask — scarcely  with  irony — 
is  there  any  such  subject,  any  such  thing,  as  political 
morality  ?  There  is  a  law  of  nations,  binding  them  to 
perform  certain  duties  to  each  other.  There  is  a  law 
of  the  land,  binding  upon  the  citizens  of  each  particu- 
lar nation.  There  is  a  law  of  morality,  penetrating 
deeper  into  the  life  and  heart,  than  judicial  law  can 
go.  But  is  there  any  thing  of  this,  or  any  thing  like 
this,  applicable  to  politics?  On  the  contrary,  are 
not  political  relations  entirely  severed  from  the  ob- 
ligations of  conscience  ?  Into  almost  every  part  of  a 
22* 


258  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

man's  life  conscience  may  look,  ay,  and  with  an  eye  of 
authority  ;  but  with  the  part  which  he  acts  as  a  poli- 
tician, is  it  not  true,  that  conscience  has  no  business 
whatever  ?  As  a  man,  he  is  bound  to  be  a  good  man ; 
and  in  that  character,  he  is  amenable  to  the  judgment 
of  God.  As  a  man,  he  is  bound  to  be  honest,  candid, 
high-minded  and  true  ;  but  would  it  not  be  quite  pre- 
posterous to  demand  this  of  him,  as  a  president,  a  gov- 
ernor, a  diplomatist,  a  party-man,  an  opposition  man  ? 
In  a  party  conclave,  you  can  easily  conceive  that  ques- 
tions may  be  discussed  on  grounds  of  policy ;  but 
would  it  not  be  quite  surprising,  if  not  ridiculous,  for  a 
man  to  get  up  and  say,  "  is  this  right  ? — is  it  conscien- 
tious ? — is  it  a  high-minded  course  ?"  Would  not  the 
look  of  silent  astonishment,  in  such  a  conclave  say,  as 
plainly  as  any  thing  can  say — "  that  is  another  question  V* 
"  Speak  not  evil  one  of  another,"  is  a  holy  precept ;  but 
can  it  be  that  it  has  any  relation  to  newspapers  ?  Es- 
pecially in  a  warm  party  contest,  as  in  a  battle,  are  not 
all  laws  of  mutual  forbearance  and  kindness,  abroga- 
ted ;  and  is  not  the  only  consideration  then,  how  to 
strike  down  an  adversary  ?  May  not  a  man  do  things 
and  avow  principles  then,  which  would  disgrace  him 
in  the  ordinary  walks  of  life  ?  May  he  not  violate  the 
law,  by  bringing  minors  and  non-residents  to  vote  1 
May  he  not  give  and  take  bribes  ?  Nay,  may  he  not 
lift  his  hand  to  heaven,  and  perjure  himself  in  such  a 
cause  ?  In  fine,  will  not  the  end  sanctify  the  means  ? 
It  is  a  very  bad  principle  every  where  else  ;  but  will 
it  not  do  in  politics  ? 

The  great  modern  master  of  dramatic  representa- 
tion shows  his  nice  observation  of  human  nature,  when 
in  a  case  of  false  swearing,  he  makes  a  man  say,  "  I 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  259 

will  swear  to  any  thing :  all  is  fair  when  it  comes  to  an 
oath  ad  litem."  That  technical,  and  to  him,  unmean- 
ing phrase,  is  probably  introduced  by  the  writer,  as 
serving  the  purpose  of  a  salvo  to  his  conscience;  as 
helping  to  blind  him  to  the  iniquity  of  the  transaction. 
And  so  it  is  with  the  technical  word,  politics.  And 
men  say,  or  act  as  if  they  said,  "  all  is  fair  when  it 
comes  to  politics."  Even  in  Case  of  the  oath,  where- 
with a  man  perjures  himself  at  the  ballot — what  is  it, 
that  he  says  to  himself,  or  that  the  partisan  tempter, 
says  to  him  ?  "  Oh !  it  is  nothing  but  an  electioneering 
oath!"  In  other  words,  all  is  fair  when  it  comes  to 
politics. 

A  part  of  the  reason  here  involved,  doubtless — that 
is  to  say,  a  part  of  the  reason  why  politics  possess  this 
morally  loose  character,  lies  in  the  vagueness  of  the 
term.  The  words,  trade,  bargain — or  the  words,  char- 
ity, philanthropy — have  a  definite  meaning  affixed  to 
them.  But  men  cannot  so  readily  tell  what  they  mean 
by  the  word,  politics  ;  and  to  this  subject,  therefore,  it 
is  less  easy  to  apply  the  principle,  of  morality. 

Another  reason,  having  a  similar  tendency  to  blind 
the  mind  to  the  necessary  moral  discriminations  in  po- 
litics, is  to  be  found  in  the  unusual  modes  and  forms 
devised,  for  the  expression  of  public  opinion.  If  a 
man  is  false  to  his  thought,  when  he  professes  to  con- 
vey his  thought  in  conversation,  he  at  once  feels  that 
he  is  dishonest.  He  sees  at  once  the  contradiction  be- 
tween what  he  says  and  what  he  thinks.  But  when 
he  gives  his  vote  at  the  ballot-box,  or  causes  if  to  be 
recorded  in  a  legislative  assembly,  it  is  comparatively 
an  artificial  act,  and  he  does  not  so  clearly  perceive  its 
character  and  relations.     He  does,  indeed,  in  that  act, 


260  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

profess  to  declare  an  opinion — he  does  profess  to  de- 
clare his  mind — but  what  is  it,  inform,  to  him?  It  is  a 
vote,  not  an  averment ;  it  is  saying,  "  yea"  or  "  nay/' 
not  saying,  "  I  believe,"  or  "  I  do  not  believe." 

There  is  another  consideration  to  be  stated,  of  the 
same  general  and  dangerous  tendency.  The  action  of 
men  in  masses  always  lessens  the  sense  of  individual 
responsibility.  Thus,  a  mob  will  do  things,  which  no 
individual  of  that  mob  would  ever  think  of  doing  alone  : 
and  this,  not  because  he  could  not  do  it  alone ;  for 
any  man  can  break  windows,  or  shoot  down  his  ad- 
versary in  the  streets ;  the  truth  is,  the  man  loses  in 
the  crowd  the  sense  of  personal  responsibility.  And 
so  it  is  with  political  combinations.  A  private  man,  a 
merchant  or  a  lawyer,  would  feel  degraded,  if  he  should 
offer  a  bribe  to  induce  his  neighbor  to  express  a  favor- 
able opinion  of  him  personally,  or,  if  he  should  threat- 
en him  with  a  loss  of  business  for  failing  to  do  so  ;  but 
he  will  resort  to  either  of  these  methods,  for  procuring 
the  same  expression  of  opinion  towards  some  public 
man — some  politician,  or  party-man. 

I  have  thus  been  lead,  briefly  to  state  some  of  the 
causes  of  that  separation  of  morality  from  politics, 
which  obtains  to  a  fearful  extent  in  the  public  mind. 
No  more  than  a  bare  statement  of  them  is  necessary 
to  show,  that  they  lack  all  proper  grounds  of  justifica- 
tion for  the  result  which  they  have  produced,  The 
way  is  open,  therefore,  for  an  attempt  to  settle  some 
principles  in  the  science  of  political  morality. 

Political  morality  may  be  considered  in  relation, 
first,  to  particular  actions  which  it  enjoins  or  forbids, 
and  secondly,  to  the  general  principles  which  it  sanc- 
tions or  disclaims. 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  261 

Under  the  first  head  is  to  be  ranked,  the  duty  of  giv- 
ing a  vote  at  the  elections.  I  hold,  that  it  is  the  duty 
of  every  legally  qualified  person  in  the  country  to  vote. 
And  let  it  not  be  thought,  that  this  point  is  any  ways 
well  settled  in  the  public  mind.  Expedient  it  may 
have  been  thought,  in  some  party  emergency,  that  eve- 
ry citizen  should  vote ;  and  at  such  a  crisis,  that  expe- 
diency may  have  been  much  talked  of ;  but  all  this  is 
a  very  different  thing  from  a  sense  of  duty,  which  per- 
vades all  times.  The  emergency  passes,  and  this  shal- 
low feeling  of  expediency  passes  away  with  it.  It  is 
the  bond  of  duty  to  which  I  appeal. 

There  are  reasons  for  it,  founded  in  the  very  nature 
and  meaning  of  the  action.  Suffrage  is  the  very  basis  of 
our  government.  The  government  in  this  country  is 
committed  to  the  whole  people.  Every  man  has  a  share 
in  it.  Every  man  exerts  an  influence  upon  it,  either  by 
his  action  or  by  his  neglect.  Can  this  be  a  case,  then, 
in  which  a  man  is  allowed  to  stand  neutral  ? 

In  theory,  the  government  here  represents  the  whole 
people.  The  practice  should  conform  to  that  theory. 
To  every  man  among  us,  a  certain  political  trust  is 
committed.  Every  man  should  quit  himself  of  that 
trust.  If  the  administration  of  our  affairs  is  corrupt 
or  incompetent,  the  people  is  to  blame — the  whole  peo- 
ple. The  blame  is  to  be  shared  among  them  all.  But 
especially  does  it  attach  to  those  who  say  that  the  gov- 
ernment is  bad,  and  will  do  nothing  to  make  it  better. 
"  Why  stand  ye  idle,  all  the  day  V  may  it  well  be  said 
to  such.  Why  stand  ye  idle  all  the  election^day  ? 
When,  on  such  a  day,  ye  see  the  thousand  and  the  mil- 
lion contributions  that  are  made  to  swell  the  mighty 
stream  of  public  opinion  and  government,  why  stand 


262  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

ye  idly  gazing  upon  it,  as  if  it  did  not  concern  you  ? 
As  well  might  ye  stand  idly  gazing  upon  the  streams 
collecting  in  the  hills  above  your  dwelling,  which  at 
any  moment  may  come  down,  and  sweep  its  founda- 
tions from  beneath  you. 

If  it  be  said  that  that  is  unlikely  to  happen,  then  let 
me  say  in  turn,  and  to  keep  the  figure  for  a  moment, 
that  those  streams  will  come  down,  either  to  fertilize 
or  to  waste  the  land  ;  and  they  shall  be  the  power,  ei- 
ther good  or  bad,  to  grind  the  very  corn  that  feeds 
your  families  and  your  neighborhoods.  If  government 
does  not  make  the  corn  grow,  yet  it  touches  every  thing 
that  affects  its  value — labor,  price,  manufacture — yes, 
it  touches  the  very  staff  of  life  ;  and  that  by  many 
means,  by  many  statutes,  besides  "  corn-laws."  Gov- 
ernment, then,  is  something  that  comes  near  to  us. 
We  greatly  err,  if  we  suppose,  as  many  seem  to  do, 
that  it  is  something  factitious  and  far  off.  It  comes 
near  to  us — to  our  warehouses  and  our  firesides,  to 
our  granaries  and  our  kneading-troughs.  Revenues 
and  tariffs,  banking-laws  and  the  monetary  system — 
these  terms  may  sound  like  a  strange  speech  to  the 
mass  of  the  people  ;  but  they  represent,  and  they  vi- 
tally affect,  their  daily  and  home-bred  interests. 

And  these  interests,  I  say  again,  are  committed  to 
the  whole  people.  They  are  directly  affected  by  le- 
gislation certainly ;  and  legislation  comes  from  the 
whole  people.  It  is  not  with  us  as  if  our  rulers  were 
hereditary.  Then  we  might  fold  our  arms,  and  say, 
"  it  is  none  of  our  concern."  And  why  ?  Because  in 
that  case,  we  should  not  be  the  governors.  But  now 
we  are  the  governors  of  the  country.  And  if  any  por- 
tion of  us — if,  for  instance,  a  tenth  part  of  our  popula- 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  263 

tion  refuse  to  give  due  attention  to  this  duty,  it  is  as  if 
the  chosen  governors  of  the  countiy  should  withhold 
a  tenth  part  of  the  talent  or  of  the  time  due  to  their 
cffice. 

I  do  not  demand  of  any  one,  that  he  should  be  an 
eager  and  noisy  politician.  I  only  demand  that  he 
should  vote ;  that  he  should,  no  matter  how  quietly, 
thus  express  his  interest  and  take  his  share  in  the  com- 
mon weal — thus  assume,  what  he  professes  to  prize  so 
highly,  the  privilege  and  duty  of  self-government.  But 
I  am  obliged  to  say,  and  I  hardly  know  whether  it  is 
with  greater  mortification  or  the  more  profound  con- 
cern, that  the  very  persons  among  us  who  are  most 
apt  to  neglect  this  duty,  are  the  very  persons  most  of 
all  bound  to  fulfil  it — I  mean  the  rich  and  the  educa- 
ted. It  is  a  statement  most  fearful  in  its  bearing  on 
the  prospects  of  the  country,  but  it  is  true.  I  do  not 
deny,  that  many  of  both  classes  are  found  at  their  posts, 
when  their  country  calls  upon  them.  But  there  are 
rich  men,  who  are  too  much  engrossed  with  their  bu- 
siness to  give  their  vote — too  much  engrossed  with 
gain  to  attend  to  their  duty  ;  or  who,  perchance,  are 
too  fastidious,  to  expose  their  persons  amidst  the  throng 
at  the  polls.  And  there  are  educated  men,  who  are 
so  much  disgusted  with  party  strifes,  that  they  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  They  give  them  up, 
as  they  scornfully  say,  to  demagogues  and  brawlers. 
And  so  very  simple  are  these  sensible  and  refined  per- 
sons, that  they  do  not  seem  to  perceive  when  they  say 
this,  that  they  are  giving  up  their  country  to  dema- 
gogues and  brawlers.  Yes,  their  country !  And  here 
it  is,  too,  on  the  very  side  where  it  most  needs  sup- 
port, that  its  legitimate  defenders  on  that  side,  are  open- 


264  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

ing  their  ranks  to  the  onset  and  the  rushing  crowd  of 
popular  ignorance  and  party  violence.  "Fools  and 
blind  !" — would  it  be  said,  should  they  be  overwhelm- 
ed by  that  crowd — "  that  did  not  perceive  that  they 
too  had  interests  at  stake — that  very  property,  that 
very  repose,  which  they  so  much  valued.  For  when 
the  crowd  came,  what  did  it  find  ?  Not  good  and  man- 
ly citizens  at  their  post ;  but  only  certain  money-chan- 
gers in  their  counting-houses,  or  silken  loungers  in 
drawing-rooms,  or  certain  learned  monks  in  their  clois- 
ters !"  I  do  not  fear  any  such  violent  and  vandal  in- 
cursion of  popular  ignorance  and  passion  ;  and  yet,  if 
any  thing  is  to  overwhelm  the  country,  it  will  be  this. 
If  there  is  any  one  thing  more  to  be  feared  than  any 
other — any  one  overshadowing  peril  to  our  political  in- 
stitutions, it  is,  that  numerical  force  will  overbalance 
the  intellectual  and  moral  strength  of  the  country.  I 
say  again,  that  I  do  not  fear  it — except  with  that  fear 
which  bringeth  safety.  I  do  not  fear  it,  because  I 
trust  that  events  are  teaching  intelligent  and  educated 
men  their  duties  ;  and  because  I  believe,  that  into  the 
numerical  force,  otherwise  so  much  to  be  dreaded, 
there  is  a  constantly  increasing,  and  will  be  a  still  lar- 
ger, infusion  of  intelligence.*  But  if  it  shall  be  other- 
wise ;  if  population  is  to  outstrip  education ;  if  num- 
bers, and  not  principles,  are  to  be  the  watch- words  and 
war-cries  of  party,  and  the  governing  powers  of  the 
state,  the  dreaded  result  is  inevitable. 

In  connection  with  this  topic,  there  is  a  question  of- 
ten raised  concerning  a  certain  educated  class  in  the 

*  Not  in  cities  perhaps,  from  temporary  causes ;  but  in  the 
country  at  large. 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY,  265 

country,  to  which  I  shall  give  a  moment's  attention. 
This  question  is — ought  the  clergy  to  vote  ?  And  to 
this  question,  I  firmly  answer,  yes ;  always  and  every 
where.  This  is  a  right  which  they  ought  never  to  suf- 
fer to  be  drawn  into  debate.  It  is  enough  that  they 
are,  by  public  opinion,  nearly  disfranchised,  and  that 
absurdly  enough,  of  their  natural  right  to  hold  offices 
under  the  government.*  We  hear  much  of  freedom, 
and  invasions  of  freedom,  in  this  country.  What  would 
any  other  respectable  class  of  citizens  say,  if  they  were 
excluded  from  all  active  share  and  interest  in  the  gov- 
ernment ?  They  would  fill  the  country  with  their  com- 
plaints, and  the  world  would  be  called  upon  to  look  at 
this  monstrous  anomaly,  in  our  free  institutions.  I 
shall  be  at  no  pains  here  to  say,  that  the  clergy  proba- 
bly do  not  desire  public  employment.  Whether  they 
do  or  not,  is  not  the  question.  I  say  that  they  have  a 
right  to  it,  as  much  as  any  other  class.  And  the  fre- 
quent language  of  reproach  and  satire  heard,  on  every 
assumption  of  this  right,  I  hold  to  be  disgraceful  to  a 
free  press  and  people.  But  the  question  now  is  about 
suffrage.  And  on  this  point,  I  maintain,  that  for  the 
clergy  to  cast  their  vote  with  the  rest  of  their  fellow- 
citizens,  at  the  elections,  is  not  only  their  right,  but 
their  bounden  duty.  Nor  should  their  congregations, 
in  manly  candor,  ever  desire  to  deprive  them  of  this 
right,  or  to  dictate  to  them  in  regard  to  the  discharge 
of  this  duty.  This  is  not  a  country — a  republican  gov- 
ernment is  the  last  in  the  world,  that  can  afford  to  part 
with  the  influence  of  a  large  and  intelligent  body  of 
its  citizens. 

*  They  are  so  by  law  in  some  of  the  States. 
23 


266  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

I  have  dwelt  longer  than  I  intended  upon  this  first 
and  foundation  principle  of  our  political  morality — 
that  which  requires  every  legally  qualified  citizen  to 
give  his  vote  at  the  elections.  There  is  another  duty 
coincident  with  this,  which  is  too  obvious  to  call  for 
much  argument,  and  yet  too  often  violated,  to  be  pass- 
ed over  in  silence  ;  and  that  is  the  duty  of  giving  an 
honest  vote. 

Every  citizen  in  this  primary  act  that  gives  its  be- 
ing and  character  to  the  government,  is  bound  to  ex- 
press his  honest  conviction.  The  vote  demands  the 
contribution  of  his  mind,  of  his  judgment,  of  his  patri- 
otism and  fidelity  to  the  common  weal.  The  citizen 
is  the  real  governor.  And  if  the  elected  ruler  is  for- 
bidden, by  every  just  principle,  to  swerve  from  an  hon- 
est purpose  towards  the  public  good,  so  is  the  ruling 
elector.  And  he  who  surrenders  his  judgment  or  con- 
science to  private  interest,  or  the  mere  dictation  of  a 
party ;  he  who  accepts  a  bribe  or  offers  one  ;  he  who, 
in  the  ballot,  smothers  his  own  conviction,  or  attempts 
to  coerce  anothers,  is  perjured  in  the  holiest  rites  with 
which  he  swears  upon  his  country's  altar. 

The  familiarity  with  which  certain  transactions  at 
the  polls  are  spoken  of — yes,  palpable  infractions  of 
the  law  with  regard  to  the  age,  residence,  and  where 
a  property  qualification  is  required,  the  property  of 
voters — the  freedom  with  which  parties  charge  these 
practices  upon  each  other  after  an  election — are  facts 
of  evil  omen.  And  the  common  defence  set  up  for 
them  is,  if  possible,  worse  than  the  things  themselves. 
The  country,  we  are  constantly  told,  is  in  danger; 
every  nerve  must  be  strained,  every  means  used,  to 
carry  certain  measures ;  the  opposite  party  leave  no 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  267 

means,  however  flagitious  and  desperate,  untried,  and 
we  must  meet  them  on  their  own  ground — must  fight 
them  with  their  own  weapons.  Admirable  doctrine  ! 
that  goes  around  the  whole  circuit  of  parties,  and  lends 
a  handle  to  each  one,  wherewith  to  push  on  the  cu- 
mulative argument  for  dishonesty  and  intrigue  !  The 
country  in  danger  ! — and  to  be  saved  by  corruption  ! 
by  bribery,  false  swearing  and  the  violated  law  !  The 
nation  sick  and  prostrate  by  the  tampering  of  some  ig- 
norant administration  with  its  health  and  vigor — and 
how  to  be  cured  ?  By  the  canker  and  the  gangrene 
that  are  eating  out  its  very  vitals ! 

Away  with  such  paltering  and  paltry  arguments  for 
the  expedient  against  the  right !  If  it  must  be  so,  I  had 
rather  my  country  were  destroyed  by  truth,  than  saved 
by  falsehood.  I  would  rather  it  were  ruined  by  vir- 
tue, than  redeemed  by  corruption.  But  do  not  the 
very  terms  of  this  statement  show,  that  it  is  not  so  ? 
No  ;  "  honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  for  man  or  nation, 
for  individual  or  party.  But  if  honesty  is  any  where 
to  be  demanded  or  expected,  it  is  in  the  first  act  that 
gives  its  character  to  the  government — the  elections. 
Admit  any  false  principle  there,  and  what,  in  consis- 
tency, can  you  look  for,  but  a  corrupt  government  ? 
Will  you  poison  the  fountain-head,  and  expect  the 
streams  to  be  pure  ? 

I  insist,  then,  that  the  elector  shall  be  honest.  He 
should  no  more  dare  to  be  false  to  his  own  mind,  false 
to  his  conscience,  in  giving  his  vote,  than  he  would  in 
giving  his  word.  His  vote  if  his  word  ;  and  the  only 
word,  perhaps,  that  he  can  speak  in  the  great  ear  of  the 
nation.  If  that  word  is  a  lie,  he  sacrifices,  as  far  as  in 
him  is,  the  right  government  and  rectitude  of  the  country. 


268  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

We  have  now  attended  to  one  branch  of  our  speci- 
fic political  duties,  the  morality  of  elections — binding 
every  citizen  to  vote,  and  every  citizen  to  vote  honest- 
ly. The  other  department  of  specific  morality,  em- 
braces the  duties  of  the  elected — of  legislators  and 
magistrates. 

And  here  I  must  confess,  that  the  tone  of  public  sen- 
timent on  this  subject — the  admission  almost  universal, 
that  legislators  and  magistrates  when  elected  will  act, 
and  must  be  expected  to  act,  for  sinister  ends — is  one 
at  which  I  tremble.  If  this  charge  were  the  offspring 
of  mere  party  recrimination,  I  could  understand  it,  and 
could  look  upon  it  with  comparative  indifference.  But 
the  truth  is,  that  the  charge  has  been  bandied  about, 
between  parties,  till  it  has  become  resolved  into  a  gen- 
eral maxim,  or  a  maxim,  at  least,  of  frightful  preva- 
lence among  the  people.  If  the  allegation  were  only, 
that  every  administration  is  liable  to  be  corrupt,  and 
does  sometimes  lean  to  party  ends — against  such  a  fact, 
arising  from  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  I  could 
bear  up.  But  when,  by  four  out  of  five  of  all  the  men 
you  meet,  of  all  parties,  it  is  sapiently  or  carelessly 
said,  that  "  all  is  corrupt  in  the  government ;"  that  "  in 
Congress,  of  course,  every  thing  is  decided  by  party ;" 
that  "  the  Capitol  is  but  a  scene  of  intrigue  and  cor- 
ruption ;"  then  is  public  virtue  not  only  shaken,  but  it  is 
sapped  to  the  very  foundation.  And  if  something  does 
not  arrest  this  tendency  of  public  sentiment,  it  is  not 
too  much  to  fear,  that  it  will  whelm  the  whole  fabric 
in  ruins.  If  virtue  in  a  public  man,  is  a  thing  alto- 
gether out  of  the  calculation  of  his  constituents  ;  if  he 
is  allowed  to  look  upon  his  place  only  as  a  sphere  of 
personal  and  party  selfishness ;  if  single-minded  prin^ 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  269 

ciple,  if  single-hearted  truth  for  the  country,  is  thus 
mocked  at  by  the  people,  and  its  possessor  is  lead  to 
regard  himself,  as  a  prodigy  or  a  fool  for  his  honesty, 
what  is  to  save  the  state — all  the  barriers  of  virtue 
broken  down — from  overwhelming  corruption  ? 

Is  this  general  proscription  of  public  men,  just  ?  I 
deny  that  it  is.  If  it  were,  then  indeed,  I  should  have 
nothing  to  say,  but  that  which  I  shall  directly  attempt 
to  say,  in  discharge  of  my  conscience  with  regard  to 
such  high  and  heaven-daring  iniquity.  But  I  deny  that 
the  common,  the  too  easy  allegation  against  public 
men,  is  true.  It  may  suit  the  impatience  of  disappoint- 
ed partisans,  or  the  envy  of  inferior  men,  or  the  vanity 
of  the  all-knowing  ones,  or  the  too  deep  and  habitual 
distrust  of  the  national  mind,  to  bring  these  sweeping 
accusations ;  but  I  am  persuaded,  that  there  are  men 
in  our  high  places  that  ought  to  stand  acquitted  of 
them — men  to  whom  they  are  a  heinous  and  cruel  in- 
justice. I  know  that  all  are  not  corrupt ;  that  all  are 
not  gone  out  of  the  way.  Mistaken  they  may  be ; 
prejudiced  they  may  be  ;  it  is  but  human,  to  err ;  but 
they  are  not  all  to  be  set  down  as  dishonest  men.  I 
know  this  as  well  as  I  can  know  any  fact  of  such  a 
nature,  I  know  it,  because  I  know  the  men ;  or  be- 
cause, I  know  the  character  they  have  sustained,  and 
still  sustain,  among  their  friends  and  neighbors.  It  is 
obviously,  a  most  arbitrary  and  unwarrantable  pro- 
ceeding, to  charge  upon  public  men  as  such,  a  worse 
character  than  upon  the  communities  they  represent ; 
to  hold  them,  in  virtue  of  their  elevation,  to  be  bad 
men ;  to  convert  the  shield  of  a  goodly  reputation,  the 
moment  the  insignia  of  office  are  stamped  upon  it,  into 
a  target  for  universal  abuse  and  opprobrium. 
23* 


270  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  when  this  treatment  is  de- 
served, when  a  man  is  false  to  the  high  trusts  of  ma- 
gistracy and  legislation,  when  he  makes  of  the  greater 
trust  only  the  greater  argument  for  infidelity  to  the 
common  weal,  there  is  no  language  of  reprobation  too 
strong  to  visit  upon  him.  Called  by  a  whole  district, 
perhaps,  a  whole  country,  to  guard  and  promote  its 
welfare — presiding,  alone  or  jointly,  over  the  affairs 
and  destinies  of  a  whole  people — each  one's  interest 
involved,  each  one's  interest  dear — and  the  interests  of 
thousands,  perhaps,  of  millions,  uniting  to  lay  upon  him 
the  bond  of  his  great  office — if  he  can  shake  it  from 
him  easily,  if  he  can  snap  it  asunder  as  tow,  and  cast 
it  aside  as  the  rubbish  of  old  and  out-worn  morality, 
I  would  he  might  know,  in  what  tone  the  outraged  con- 
science of  a  nation  can  speak.  I  would  that  the  pub- 
lic bosom  were  taught  to  heave,  and  the  public  eye  to 
flash  upon  him,  with  withering  and  crushing  indigna- 
tion. 

It  may  be  thought  a  light  thing,  and  to  little  purpose, 
to  say  to  the  man,  high  in  office,  "  you  are  bound  by 
the  laws  of  morality  and  honor,  to_act  faithfully  for  the 
country — yes,  and  above  all  men  bound."  There  may 
be  some  men  of  lofty  station,  and  more  than  one  such, 
who  would  smile  at  the  simplicity  of  the  appeal,  and 
would  imagine  that  it  must  come  from  some  child,  or 
from  some  scholastic  and  retired  person,  sadly  igno- 
rant of  the  world.  And  if,  yet  more,  the  nobleness  of 
his  function  were  insisted  on  ;  if  he  were  admonished, 
that  nothing  on  earth  can  approach  so  near  to  the  be- 
neficent Divinity  as  a  just  and  good  government, 
watching  over  a  great  people,  ministering  to  the  secu- 
rity, comfort  and  virtue  of  millions — he  might  regard 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  271 

it  as  a  picture  drawn  by  some  visionary  dreamer.  Is 
it  so  ?  Is  the  adjuration  of  subject  millions,  appealing 
to  their  rulers — is  the  good  or  the  evil  flowing  down 
from  them,  through  all  the  dwellings  of  a  whole  coun- 
try— is  the  sighing  and  the  crying  that  goes  up  from 
nations,  asking — ever  asking  for  truth  and  justice  in  the 
high  places  of  the  world — is  all  this  to  pass  for  vision- 
ary dreaming  ?  Not  so  !  Forbid  it  heaven  !  Forbid  it 
earth !  That  profane  trifling  with  the  sanctitude  of 
power — that  accommodating,  detestable  morality,  that 
allows  greatness  to  be  a  shield  for  injustice,  and  office 
an  exemption  from  duty — let  all  the  world  rise  to  for- 
bid. That  humble  ignorance  should  err,  that  burden- 
ed weakness  should  falter,  that  crushed  poverty  should 
swerve,  may  find  some  apology  with  man,  some  indul- 
gence with  heaven  :  but  lofty  power — but  command- 
ing intellect — but  proud  independence  of  the  low  wants 
of  life — these,  if  any  thing,  shall  be  held  amenable  to 
the  moral  judgment  of  mankind — these,  if  any  thing, 
shall  stand  confronted  with  the  most  awful  accusations 
of  human  guilt,  before  the  just  and  dread  tribunal  of 
God! 

I  am  sensible,  that  the  discussion  in  which  I  have 
now  engaged,  of  specific  political  duties,  has  already 
gone  to  the  usual  length  of  a  public  discourse  ;  but  I 
must  venture  to  beg  your  indulgence  to  a  few  closing 
remarks,  of  a  more  general  character.  For,  I  am  not 
willing  to  leave  the  subject  without  showing,  in  the 
first  place,  that  there  is  a  lawful  and  useful  sphere  for 
those  powers  and  principles,  which  are  involved  in  the 
political  action  of  a  people  ;  or  without  pointing  out, 
in  the  second  place,  the  evil  of  pressing  them  beyond 
the  bounds  of  a  just  morality. 


272  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  there  is  a  lawful  sphere  for 
political  and  party  action.  Parties,  as  such,  are  not  to 
be  deprecated.  Oppositions  are  not  to  he  deprecated. 
Newspapers  devoted  to  the  maintainance  of  particular 
views,  newspaper  arguments,  public  speeches — speech- 
es in  caucus — are  not  to  be  deprecated.  They  are  all 
to  be  welcomed,  they  are  all  good,  in  their  place. 

What  is  their  place  ?  Let  us  consider  it. 

Parties  then,  properly  regarded,  are  founded  on  the 
different  views  that  are  unavoidably  taken  of  public 
measures  and  public  men.  All  men  cannot  think  alike. 
Differences  of  opinion  are  inevitable.  Parties  then, 
are  necessary.  And  they  are  useful.  It  is  for  the 
public  advantage,  that  all  questions  touching  the  com- 
mon weal,  should  be  freely  discussed.  The  legitimate 
action  of  parties  is,  the  embodied  manifestation  and  ad- 
vocacy of  their  respective  views  of  the  public  policy. 
This  is  their  proper  sphere ;  and  this  is  their  proper 
limit.  It  is  no  part  of  their  business  to  malign  the  mo- 
tives of  each  other,  or  to  use  immoral  means  for  the 
advancement  of  their  respective  ends.  And  not  only 
so,  but  it  is  peculiarly  incumbent  on  these  political 
combinations,  if  they  would  act  an  honorable  part,  to 
guard  themselves  from  prejudice,  passion  and  violence, 
from  slander,  intrigue  and  oppression.  This  may  be 
accounted  no  better,  I  am  sensible,  than  "  the  foolish- 
ness of  preaching."  It  is  the  grave  voice  of  political 
morality,  and  not  of  faction.  But  I  cannot  admit,  that 
it  is  out  of  place  here.  I  cannot  believe,  that  all  high 
principle  is  for  ever  to  be  excluded  from  politics.  I 
have  in  my  mind  still,  the  beau  ideal  of  a  party-man, 
differ  as  it  may  from  the  common  example.  He  is  not 
a  man  to  whom  all  opinions  are  indifferent ;  and,  there- 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  273 

foii\  he  is  a  party-man.  He  is  a  man  who  adopts  an 
opinion  and  defends  it.  But  then  he  is  a  man  who 
stands  up  manfully  and  nobly  to  defend  his  opinion — 
courageously  and  courteously  to  defend  it — honestly 
and  candidly  to  defend  it ;  and  he  spurns  the  idea  of 
misrepresenting  either  the  argument  or  the  character 
of  his  adversary.  He  cares  more  to  be  true  to  his 
own  mind  and  conscience,  than  to  any  thing  else.  He 
guards  his  liberty  from  all  party  invasion  ;  for  he  will 
not  be  a  machine.  He  takes  care  not  to  add  to  his 
own  natural  selfishness,  the  selfishness  of  ten  thousand 
other  persons — for  he  will  not  be  a  blind  leader  of  the 
blind.  He  is  for  his  party,  indeed  ;  but  yet  more  for 
his  country ;  and  for  God  above  all.  "  God  and  my 
right,"  is  the  motto  engraven  on  the  arms  of  a  king ; 
but  upon  his  living  bosom,  is  stamped  the  impress  of  a 
nobler  motto — "  God,  and  my  country  !" 

There  is  also  a  theory  of  opposition  to  the  govern- 
ment— the  beau-ideal  of  an  opposition-man,  which,  it 
were  to  be  wished,  were  more  considered  than  it  is. 
To  pull  down  and  destroy,  is  not  in  ordinary  circum- 
stances, the  legitimate  end  of  an  opposition.  But  it  is 
to  limit,  to  control,  to  correct,  and  thus  ultimately  to 
assist.  It  is  not  to  look  upon  the  government,  as  a 
hostile  power  that  has  made  a  lodgment  in  the  coun- 
try, and  is  to  be  expelled  by  a  party  war ;  but  as  a 
lawfully  constituted  power,  that  is  to  be  watched,  re- 
strained, and  kept  from  going  wrong.  Still,  it  is  the 
government  of  our  country,  and  is  to  be  respected. 
Still,  it  is  the  government  of  our  country,  and  is  to  be 
regarded  with  a  candid,  and  I  had  almost  said,  a  filial 
spirit.  Its  officers  are  not  to  be  assailed  with  scurri- 
lous abuse,  nor  its  departments  to  be  degraded  by  vile 


274  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

epithets.  There  is  a  certain  consideration  and  dignity 
to  be  preserved  by  an  opposition.  If  not,  if  its  spirit 
is  altogether  factious  and  fault-finding,  if  it  rejoices 
over  the  errors  of  an  administration,  it  so  far  loses  all 
respectability :  it  shows,  that  it  is  not  so  anxious  for  a 
good  government,  as  to  be  itself  the  government. 

Oppositions,  then — parties,  party  arguments  and 
measures,  all  have  their  legitimate  sphere.  But  now 
I  say,  in  the  second  place,  that  when  they  transcend 
their  sphere,  when  they  overleap  the  bounds  of  mo- 
rality, they  become  engines  of  evil  and  peril  to  the 
country. 

The  only  sound  and  safe  principle,  I  must  continu- 
ally insist,  is  that  which  binds  morals  and  politics  in 
indissoluble  union ;  which  admits  of  no  compromise, 
exception  or  question ;  which  will  hear  of  nothing  as 
expedient,  that  is  at  variance  with  truth  and  justice. 
Politics  are  to  have  no  scale  of  morality,  graduated  to 
their  exigencies.  That  which  is  wrong  every  where 
else,  is  wrong  here.  That  which  is  wrong  for  every 
other  body  of  men,  is  wrong  for  a  party.  A  bad  man, 
in  every  other  relation,  is  a  bad  man  for  the  country. 
He  may,  indeed,  chance  to  espouse  some  right  meas- 
ure. But  he  who  is  devoid  of  all  principle  in  private 
life,  can  give  no  satisfactory  pledge,  that  he  will  be 
governed  by  any  principle  in  public  life. 

The  evils  of  forsaking  the  moral  guidance  in  politi- 
cal affairs,  are  various  and  vast,  and  they  demand  the 
most  serious  consideration.  They  more  deeply  con- 
cern the  country,  than  any  peril  to  its  visible  prosperi- 
ty. They  are  such,  that  they  demand  our  most  sol- 
emn meditation  in  our  holiest  Hours  and  places. 

The  tendency  of  political  action,  when  set  free  from 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  275 

moral  restraint,  is  to  break  down  all  personal  indepen- 
dence in  the  country.  Parties,  then,  demand,  not 
honesty  but  service,  of  their  votaries.  Governments 
strengthen  themselves  by  bribery  and  corruption. 
Oppositions  take  the  same  arms,  and,  in  their  hour  of 
success,  retort  the  same  measures.  Abuses  become 
precedents,  and  precedents  multiply  abuses.  Every 
new  administration,  every  generation  of  politicians  be- 
comes, not  wiser,  but  worse  than  their  predecessors, 
their  fathers.  The  tendency  of  things,  without  moral 
restraint,  is  ever  downwards.  Already  have  we  ar- 
rived at  that  stage  of  deterioration,  when  you  will  find 
many  respectable  and  honest  men  in  the  country, 
blinded  by  reasonings  like  these — "  Why  should  not  an 
administration,  they  say,  reward  its  friends  and  sup- 
porters ?  What  is  it,  but  righting  the  wrongs  done  by 
a  previous  administration?  What  is  it,  in  fact,  but 
choosing  its  friends,  rather  than  its  enemies,  to  help  it 
carry  on  the  government  ?"  I  will  grant,  that  this  must 
be  done,  in  regard  to  its  immediate  council — its  Cabi- 
net. But  when  it  extends  beyond  this  to  subordinate 
officers,  what  is  it  but  a  system  of  favoritism  and  pro- 
scription, fatal  to  all  public  virtue  ?  Honesty  then  be- 
comes a  discarded  and  persecuted  virtue  ;  and  mere, 
blind,  unscrupulous  party  zeal  becomes  the  only  pass-, 
port  to  honors  and  emoluments.  Honorable  citizen- 
ship is  sunk  in  base  partisanship.  The  entire  national 
dignity,  so  far  as  it  is  connected  with  its  political  ac- 
tion— freedom,  franchise,  patriotism,  self-respect — all 
is  merged  in  a  vile  scramble  for  office.  The  national 
conscience  is  sold  in  the  market.  The  national  honor 
is  all  bowed  down  to  the  worship  of  interest.  The 
corrupted  nation  sets  up  a  golden  calf,  in  place  of  the 


276  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

Divinity  of  pristine  and  holy  truth ;  and  not  the  Isra- 
elites, at  the  footstool  of  God's  manifested  presence, 
were  more  debased  and  sacrilegious  idolaters. 

The  destruction  of  mutual  confidence  and  respect, 
is  another  evil  connected  with  our  party  strifes,  and  to 
me,  it  is  one  of  the  most  painful. 

Pass  through  the  different  party  circles  of  the  coun- 
try, and  what  shall  you  hear  ?  In  the  course  of  a  sin- 
gle day,  you  shall  hear  every  public  man  in  the  coun- 
try, charged  with  a  total  want  of  principle.  You  shall 
hear  this  constantly,  from  men  of  the  greatest  sobriety 
and  weight  of  character.  Not  one  man  in  public  life, 
high  enough  to  be  a  mark  for  observation,  shall  escape 
this  tremendous  proscription.  If  you  open  the  news- 
papers, in  the  hope,  by  some  patient  reading  and  in- 
vestigation, to  ascertain  what  the  truth  is,  you  find 
yourself  immediately  launched  upon  a  sea  of  doubts. 
Every  fact,  every  measure,  every  man,  is  represented 
in  such  different  lights,  that  you  are  totally  at  a  loss, 
so  far  as  that  testimony  goes,  what  to  believe.  You 
are  in  a  worse  condition  than  a  juror,  vexed  by  con- 
trary pleadings.  You  have  no  judge  to  help  you,  and 
the  whole  country  is  filled  with  party  pleadings,  with- 
out law  or  precedent,  without  rule  or  restraint.  You 
soon  come  to  feel,  as  if  nothing  less  than  the  devotion 
of  a  whole  life,  can  enable  you  thoroughly  to  under- 
stand the  questions  that  are  brought  before  you  :  but 
you  have  no  life  to  give — you  have  something  else  to 
do.  There  is,  indeed,  one  way  to  find  relief;  and  it 
is  the  common  way.  It  is  to  believe  every  thing  that 
one  party  says,  and  nothing  that  another  says.  But 
he  must  altogether  abjure  his  reason,  who  believes  that 
this  is  the  way  to  come  at  the  truth.     And  yet,  this  is  the 


ON    POLITICAL   MORALITY.  277 

course  usually  adopted  ;  and  men  are  reading  their  fa- 
vorite journals  the  year  round,  not  to  get  their  minds  en- 
lightened and  their  judgments  corrected,  but  only  to  have 
their  passions  inflamed,  and  their  prejudices  confirmed. 

Thus,  the  grand  instrument  of  public  opinion  is 
broken.  A  sound  and  virtuous  public  opinion  is  the 
only  safeguard  of  the  country,  and  yet  men  lay  their 
hands  upon  it  as  recklessly,  as  if  it  were  given  them  to 
practice  upon,  and  to  pervert  and  poison  at  their  pleas- 
ure— as  if  this  great  surrounding  atmosphere  of  thought, 
which  invests  and  sustains  the  people,  were  but  a  la- 
boratory for  the  experiments  of  ingenuity  and  tricks 
of  legerdemain. 

Thus,  I  say,  confidence  is  fallen,  and  with  it  is  fallen 
mutual  respect.  What  respect  can  there  be  between 
parties,  who  are  constantly  accusing  one  another  of 
fraud  and  perjury,  of  the  worst  practices  and  the  bas- 
est ends  ?  What  respect  between  editors  of  journals, 
who  are  daily  charging  each  other  with  intrigue,  ma- 
lignity and  wilful  falsehood?  Can  any  honorable  mind 
desire  this  state  of  things  ?  Can  nothing  be  done  to  in- 
troduce a  new  morality,  a  new  courtesy  into  our  dis- 
cussions ?  Must  our  conflicts  always  be  of  this  bad  and 
brutal  character  ?  Is  it  not  the  inevitable  tendency  of 
this  fierce  and  blasting  recrimination,  to  blunt  the  sense 
of  honor  ?  Instead  of  feeling  "  a  stain  like  a  wound," 
a  man  is  likely  to  come  out  of  such  conflicts  seared 
and  scaled  all  over,  as  with  the  mail  of  leviathan.  I 
confess,  that  I  look  with  more  respect  upon  the  gentle 
courtesy  of  the  old  chivalry,  upon  the  mad  sense  of 
honor  defended  in  the  tournament,  upon  the  bloody 
battling  of  national  pride  and  jealousy,  than  upon  the 
abusive  and  outrageous  language  of  our  party  strifes. 

24 


278  ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY. 

All  this, 'too,  in  a  time  of  peace  !  All  this  for  difference 
of  opinion,  on  grave  and  difficult  questions,  upon  which 
men  may  lawfully  and  honestly  differ !  Opponents  for 
such  cause,  treating  one  another  like  ruffians  !  Repu- 
tation— the  life,  the  more  than  life  of  a  man,  stabbed 
and  slain  in  the  shambles  of  this  political  butchery ! 
Tell  us  not,  men  of  the  world  !  of  our  religious  dis- 
putes. Talk  not  of  our  odium  theologicum.  Say  no- 
thing of  the  contentions  of  professional  men,  or  of  the 
quarrels  of  authors.  Their  sound  is  scarcely  heard 
now,  nor  is  it  likely  any  more  to  be  audible  in  this  land  ; 
for  it  is  all  lost  in  the  loud  strife  and  fierce  battle  of 
politics,  that  is  every  year  and  every  month,  rising  and 
raging  around  us. 

And  the  tendency  of  all  this,  in  fine,  is  to  debase  and 
brutalize  the  country.  Personal  independence  beaten 
down ;  mutual  confidence  and  respect  prostrated ;  mor- 
al deterioration  follows  as  a  natural  consequence.  I 
do  not  forget  to  limit  the  observation.  I  know  that 
political  action  is  not  the  whole  action  of  the  country. 
I  do  not  say,  that  the  national  character  is  all  sunk  to 
the  point  of  its  political  derelictions :  by  no  means. 
But  this  I  say,  that  immorality  in  politics,  so  far  as  it 
can  take  effect,  tends  to  debase  and  brutalize  the  coun- 
try. It  tends  to  corrupt  the  public  sentiment,  and  to 
degrade  private  virtue.  No  man  is  so  pure,  but  he  is 
vilified  without  mercy,  by  the  opposite  party.  No 
man  is  so  base  so  vicious  and  criminal,  but  he  is  sus- 
tained without  conscience,  by  his  own.  It  tends  to  di- 
vest the  franchise  of  all  dignity,  and  the  government 
of  all  venerableness.  Let  politics  be  separated  from 
principle,  from  a  high  and  commanding  morality,  and 
instead  of  the  calm  majesty  of  a  free  people  at  the 


ON    POLITICAL    MORALITY.  279 

polls,  we  shall  see  the  brawls  of  a  vulgar  election  ;  and 
instead  of  a  magnanimous  and  self-poised  government, 
a  miserable,  time-serving,  place-keeping  faction  ! 

But  I  must  check  myself.  I  ought  not,  for  your  pa- 
tience* sake,  to  enlarge  on  this  topic,  though,  alas !  it 
were  too  easy  to  do  so.  Is  it  not  possible,  I  have  said, 
to  introduce  a  new  morality,  a  new  courtesy  into  our 
political  disputes?  And  little  as  you  may  imagine  that 
this  question  is  thought  of,  yet  I  am  persuaded,  that 
there  are  thousands  of  lofty  minds  that  ask  it,  with  ea- 
gerness it  may  be,  with  sighing,  and  almost,  with  de- 
spair. But  I  am  persuaded  that  it  is  possible.  Even 
if  the  pulpit  would  do  its  duty,  I  persuade  myself,  that 
much  would  be  accomplished.  If,  leaving  barren  po- 
lemics and  useless  abstractions,  it  would  address  itself 
to  this  momentous  theme  of  the  nation's  moral  well- 
being — if,  among  the  duties  which  men  owe  to  men,  it 
would  solemnly  and  emphatically  place  the  duties  they 
owe  to  their  country,  it  could  not  be  without  some  ef- 
fect. Sad  and  lamentable,  that  in  a  countiy  like  this, 
the  pulpit  should  be  wanting  to  such  a  trust !  Yes,  it 
if  possible  to  do  something — to  do  every  thing.  Pos- 
sible, did  I  say  ?  How  easy  were  it  ?  It  is  but  for 
every  writer  and  speaker  to  the  country,  to  charge 
himself  to  speak  and  write  with  fairness,  candor  and 
courtesy ;  for  every  citizen  to  vote  honestly ;  for  every 
legislator  and  ruler,  to  act  as  one  who  has  sworn  at  the 
altar  of  truth,  in  the  sight  of  Heaven.  Oh  !  come,  ho- 
ly truth,  easier  than  falsehood  !  primeval  virtue,  better 
than  victory  ! — and  that  which  the  sages  of  the  world, 
the  prophets  of  human  hope,  looking  over  the  ages, 
have  sighed  to  behold,  shall  appear — a  free  and  happy 
community — a  free,  lofty  and  self-governed  people  ! 


280 


DISCOURSE   XII. 

THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM. 

(Delivered  on  the  Thanksgiving  Anniversary  in  1837.) 


JEREMIAH   XXX.  21.     And  their  nobles  shall  be  of 

THEMSELVES,    AND    THEIR    GOVERNORS    SHALL    PROCEED    FROM 
THE    MIDST    OF    THEM. 

The  subject  on  which  I  am  about  to  address  you, 
is  the  blessing  of  freedom  ;  the  advantages  of  that  po- 
litical  condition  in  which  we  are  placed. 

There  are  various  causes  in  operation,  which  tend 
to  lessen  in  us,  the  due  sense  of  these  advantages. 
Extravagance  of  praise — asserting  too  much  with  re- 
i  to  any  principle — overdrawn  statements  of  its 
nature,  and  perpetual  boasting  of  its  effects,  are  likely 
in  all  cases,  sooner  or  later,  to  bring  about  a  reaction. 
I  think  we  are  now  witnessing  something  of  this  reac- 
tion. The  abuses  of  the  principle  of  liberty  also,  the 
outbreakings  of  popular  violence,  mobs  and  tumults 
prostrating  the  law  under  foot,  and  the  tyranny,  more- 
over, of  legal  majorities,  and  withal,  the  bitter  animosi- 
ties of  party  strife,  and  the  consequent  incessant  fluc- 
tuations of  public  policy,  constantly  deranging  the  bu- 
siness of  the  country — all  these  things  are  leading  some 
to  say,  but  with  more  haste  and  rashness  than  wisdom, 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  281 

I  must  think,  that  even  political  oppression  and  injus- 
tice, which  should  make  all  strong  and  firm  and  per- 
manent, would  be  better  than  that  state  of  things  in 
which  we  live.  Add  to  all  this,  that  the  blessings 
which  are  common,  like  the  air  we  breathe  and  the 
light  of  day — blessings  which  are  invested  with  the  fa- 
miliar livery  of  our  earliest  and  most  constant  experi- 
ence— are  apt  to  pass  by  us  unregarded ;  while  the 
evils  of  life,  calamities  and  concussions  of  the  elements, 
shipwrecks  and  storms  and  earthquakes,  rise  into  por- 
tentous and  heart-thrilling  significance  ;  and  we  see  an- 
other and  final  reason  why  the  advantages  of  our  po- 
litical condition  are  liable  to  be  undervalued.  We  have 
departed  just  far  enough  from  those  days  in  which  the 
battle  for  freedom  was  fought,  to  substitute  indifference 
and  complaint,  for  the  old  enthusiasm  and  devotion. 

Indeed,  it  appears  to  me,  that  the  time  has  come,  not 
only  in  this  country,  but  on  the  theatre  of  the  world's 
public  opinion,  when  the  merits  of  popular  representa- 
tive government  are  to  be  thoroughly  examined.  In 
fact,  they  were  never  brought  into  such  controversy 
all  over  the  world,  as  they  are  at  this  moment.  Nay, 
even  in  this  country,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  is, 
in  some  minds  at  least,  such  a  controversy.  But,  in 
England,  the  question  about  giving  supreme  dominion 
to  the  public  will,  is  the  great,  the  ultimate  and  vital 
question  of  the  day.  That  question,  too,  is  penetrat- 
ing into  France  and  Germany  ;  and  it  will  yet  make 
its  way  into  Italy,  and  Russia,  and  the  Ottoman  Em- 
pire itself. 

The  first  step  which  I  shall  take  in  defending  the 
ground  which  we  as  a  nation  have  taken,  will  be  care- 
fully to  define  it.  What  then  is  the  ground  which  we 
24* 


282  THE    BLESSING    OF   FREEDOM. 

have  taken  ?  What  is  the  principle  of  a  democratic  or 
representative  government  ?  It  is,  that  no  restraints, 
disabilities  or  penalties  shall  be  laid  upon  any  person, 
and  that  no  immunities,  privileges  or  charters  shall  be 
conferred  on  any  person  or  any  class  of  persons,  but 
such  as  tend  to  promote  the  general  welfare.  This  ex- 
ception, be  it  remembered,  is  an  essential  part  of  our 
theory.  Our  principle  is  not,  as  I  conceive,  that  no 
privileges  shall  be  granted  to  one  person  more  than  to 
another.  If  bank  charters,  for  instance,  can  be  proved 
to  be  advantageous  to  the  community,  our  principle 
must  allow  them.  It  is  upon  the  same  principle,  that 
we  grant  acts  of  incorporation  to  the  governors  of 
colleges,  academies  and  hospitals,  and  to  many  other 
benevolent  and  literary  societies  :  it  is  upon  the  ground 
that  they  benefit  the  public.  And  what  is  government 
itself,  but  a  corporation  possessing  and  exercising  cer- 
tain exclusive  powers  for  the  general  weal.  The 
President  of  the  United  States  is,  by  our  will,  the  most 
privileged  person  in  the  country ;  he  holds,  for  the 
time  being,  an  absolute  monopoly  of  certain  extraor- 
dinary powers.  Will  any  man  say,  then,  that  no  per- 
son shall  enjoy  any  privileges  which  he  does  not  en- 
joy ?  There  may,  doubtless,  be  monopolies  and  immu- 
nities which  are  wrong,  unjust  and  injurious.  But 
when  the  popular  cry  is,  "  down  with  all  monopolies  1 
down  with  all  corporations  and  charters  !"  I  hold,  that 
it  is  a  senseless  cry.  It  is  a  senseless  cry,  because  it 
is  suicidal ;  because  it  is  fatal  to  all  government. 

Again,  I  maintain,  that  our  democratic  principle  is 
not  that  the  people  are  always  right.  It  is  this  rather  ; 
that  although  the  people  may  sometimes  be  wrong,  yet 
that  they  are  not  so  likely  to  be  wrong  and  to  do  wrong 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  283 

as  irresponsible,  hereditary  magistrates  and  legislators  ; 
that  it  is  safer  to  trust  the  many  with  the  keeping  of 
their  own  interests,  than  it  is  to  trust  the  few  to  keep 
those  interests  for  them.  The  people  are  not  always 
right ;  they  are  often  wrong.  They  must  be  so,  from 
the  very  magnitude,  difficulty  and  complication  of  the 
questions  that  are  submitted  to  them.  I  am  amazed, 
that  thinking  men,  conversant  with  these  questions, 
should  address  such  gross  flattery  and  monstrous  ab- 
surdity to  the  people,  as  to  be  constantly  telling  them, 
that  they  will  put  all  these  questions  right  at  the  ballot- 
box.  And  I  am  no  less  amazed,  that  a  sensible  people 
should  suffer  such  folly  to  be  spoken  to  them.  Is  it 
possible  that  the  people  believe  it  ?  Is  it  possible  that 
the  majority  itself  of  any  people,  can  be  so  infatuated 
as  to  hold,  that  in  virtue  of  its  being  a  majority,  it  is 
always  right  ?  Alas  !  for  truth,  if  it  is  to  depend  on 
votes  !  Has  the  majority  always  been  right  in  religion 
or  in  philosophy?  But  the  science  of  politics  involves 
questions  no  less  intricate  and  difficult.  And  on  these 
questions,  there  are  grave  and  solemn  decisions  to  be 
made  by  the  people  ;  great  State  problems  are  submit- 
ted to  them ;  such,  for  instance,  as  concerning  internal 
improvements,  the  tariff,  the  currency,  banking,  and 
the  nicest  points  of  construction ;  which  cost  even  the 
wisest  men  much  study ;  and  what  the  people  require 
for  the  solution  of  these  questions,  is  not  rash  haste, 
boastful  confidence,  furious  anger  and  mad  strife,  but 
sobriety,  calmness,  modesty — qualities,  indeed,  that 
would  go  far  to  abate  the  violence  of  our  parties,  and 
to  hush  the  brawls  of  our  elections.  I  do  not  deny, 
that  questions  of  deep  national  concern,  may  justly 
awaken  great  zeal  and  earnestness ;  but  I  do  deny, 


284  THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM. 

that  the  public  mind  should  be  bolstered  up  with  the 
pride  of  supposing  itself  to  possess  any  complete,  mucli 
less,  any  suddenly  acquired  knowledge  of  them.  I  am 
willing  to  take  my  fellow-citizens  for  my  governors, 
with  all  their  errors  ;  I  prefer  their  will,  legally  signi- 
fied, to  any  other  government ;  but  to  say  or  imply, 
that  they  do  not  err  and  often  err,  is  a  doctrine  alike 
preposterous  in  general  theory,  and  pernicious  in  its 
effects  upon  themselves. 

A  popular  government,  then,  is  not  to  be  represented 
as  an  unerring  government,  but  only  as  less  likely  to  err, 
less  likely  to  oppress  and  wrong  the  people,  than  any 
other. 

Errors  there  are,  indeed,  and  enough  of  them,  to 
make  the  people  unfeignedly  cautious  and  modest,  in 
the  great  attempt  to  govern  themselves.  The  violence 
and  immorality  of  party  strifes,  the  prostration  of  all 
social  order  beneath  the  feet  of  infuriated  mobs,  the 
taking  of  life  without  the  forms  of  law,  murder,  in- 
deed, in  the  open  day,  and  with  more  than  the  impu- 
nity of  ordinary  concealment — these  things  fill  us  at 
times,  with  alternate  disgust  and  despair.  Let  the 
weight  of  public  reprobation  rest  upon  them.  I  would 
not  lift  one  finger  of  the  heavy  hand  which  ought  to 
lie  upon  them,  and  which  ultimately  must  lie  upon 
them.  But  let  it  not  be  thought,  that  strifes  and  tu- 
mults are  the  peculiar  results  of  republican  institutions. 
Will  any  one  say  that,  during  the  period  of  our  nation- 
al existence,  we  have  suffered  more  from  the  turbu- 
lence of  the  people,  than  other  nations  under  different 
forms  of  government  ?  Have  we  forgotten  the  riots, 
the  burning  of  hay-ricks  and  destruction  of  machinery 
in  England  ;  the  horrors  of  the  successive  revolutions 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  285 

in  France ;  the  tumults  and  secret  societies  of  Ger- 
many ;  the  Ottoman  throne  swaying  to  and  fro  to  the 
pushing  pike-staffs  of  lawless  Janizaries  ;  the  atrocities 
of  Russian  despotism  in  Poland ;  the  gentle  tyranny 
of  Austria,  not  so  blood-thirsty — no,  but  only  burying 
ahVe  her  noblest  subjects  in  the  graves  of  Spielburg 
and  Venice — have  we  forgotten  these  things,  that  we 
are  willing  to  exchange  for  such  fortunes,  the  peaceful 
order  of  these  free  and  happy  States  ? 

It  is  true,  indeed,  and  lamentable  as  true,  that  this 
peaceful  order  is  sometimes  broken.  It  is  true  and 
lamentable,  that  some  of  our  citizens  have  strangely 
forgotten  the  very  principle  on  which  our  institutions 
are  based — freedom — freedom  of  speech,  freedom  of 
publication,  freedom  of  trial  by  jury  as  the  only  con- 
dition on  which  life,  liberty  or  property  in  this  country 
shall  be  ever  touched.  My  blood  runs  cold  in  my 
veins,  and  I  tremble  as  I  look  upon  my  children,  to 
think — that  my  house  or  yours,  may  yet  be  surround- 
ed by  an  armed  mob,  that  you  or  I  may  be  shot  down, 
without  remorse,  on  our  own  threshold,  simply  for  as- 
serting our  honest  opinion.  But,  I  thank  God,  that 
this  is  yet  a  country,  and  I  trust  in  God,  always  will 
be  a  country,  in  which  I  can  express  my  indignation 
alike  against  the  despotism  of  a  government,  and  the 
despotism  of  a  populace.  When  it  ceases  to  be  such, 
be  it  no  longer  my  country !  Give  me  any  tyranny,  ra- 
ther than  that  most  monstrous  of  all  the  tyrannies  ever 
heard  of — the  bloody  violence  of  a  lawless  people,  with 
liberty  on  their  lips  and  murder  in  their  hearts.  Let 
this  body  of  mine  sink  under  the  Turkish  bow-string 
or  the  Russian  knout,  rather  than  be  trodden  out  of 
life  under  the  heels  of  a  brutal  populace.     I  am  not 


286  THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM. 

an  abolitionist,  in  the  technical  sense  of  that  word,  and 
I  say  it  now,  only  that  I  may  give  my  words  the  great- 
er force.  For  if  I  thought  every  abolitionist  in  the 
country  worthy  of  death,  I  should  still  say  that  the 
hand  which  inflicted  it,  without  the  forms  of  law,  was 
the  hand  of  a  murderer.  And  wo  and  shame  to  the 
country,  if  such  deeds  can  go  unpunished  ! 

I  have  said  that  I  am  not  an  abolitionist,  but  let  it 
not  be  supposed,  on  the  other  hand,  that  I  am  a  friend 
to  the  system  of  slavery.  With  what  face  could  I  en- 
ter upon  a  defence  of  the  doctrine  of  liberty,  if  I  were 
so  ?  The  very  despot  could  defend  liberty  upon  that 
plan — that  is,  "  liberty  for  me,"  he  would  say,  "  and 
bondage  for  you."  Slavery  is,  undoubtedly,  an  anom- 
aly in  our  free  institutions.  And  when  I  defend  and 
eulogise  our  freedom,  that,  of  course,  must  be  set  aside, 
as  a  lamentable,  though  I  trust,  that  it  is  to  be  a  tem- 
porary exception. 

Let  me  now  proceed  to  speak  of  liberty  as  a  bless- 
ing, and  the  highest  blessing  that  can  appertain  to  the 
condition  of  a  people.  This,  you  know,  is  denied.  It 
is  maintained,  on  the  contrary,  that  liberty  is  a  curse. 
I  do  not  say  that  such  a  proposition  is  openly  main- 
tained in  this  country.  But  in  other  countries,  it  is 
maintained,  with  a  zeal  to  which  we  must,  at  least,  al- 
low the  credit  of  sincerity,  that  the  liberty  we  contend 
for,  is  a  curse  ;  that  it  is  not  only  a  dream  of  enthusi- 
asts, but  a  wild  and  dangerous  dream,  which  must 
sooner  or  later,  wake  to  the  fearful  realities  of  disor- 
der, anarchy  and  bloodshed.  We  are  called  upon, 
therefore,  with  equal  earnestness  to  defend  the  ground, 
which  we  as  a  people,  have  taken.  This  defence,  I 
will  humbly,  in  my  place,  attempt. 


THE    BLESSING    OP    FREEDOM.  287 

And  in  the  first  place,  I  value  our  political  constitu- 
tion, because  it  is  the  only  system  that  accords  with 
the  truth  of  things,  the  only  system  that  recognises  the 
great  claims  and  inalienable  rights  of  humanity.  There 
may  be  nations  who  are  not  prepared  to  assert  these 
claims,  and  to  enjoy  these  rights.  I  speak  not  for  them. 
But  for  me  it  is  a  happiness  that  I  live  under  a  politi- 
cal system,  that  is  not  based  upon  error,  that  involves 
no  gross  and  palpable  violation  of  the  great  and  mani- 
fest rights  of  humanity.  I  might  feel,  in  Austria  or  in 
Prussia,  that  I  was  no  sufferer  from  the  political  sys- 
tem under  which  I  lived  ;  nay,  I  might  be  one  of  the 
favorites  of  that  system  ;  but  I  would  not  desire  to  be 
the  favorite  of  a  system,  which  would  be  a  constant 
reproach  to  my  reason  and  my  conscience.  Why,  I 
must  naturally  desire  that  even  the  machinery  of  a 
manufactory,  were  I  engaged  in  one,  should  be  the 
best — should  exhibit  the  fittest  adjustment  of  part  to 
part ; — how  much  more  must  I  desire  this,  concerning 
the  machinery  of  that  political  constitution,  which  in- 
volves not  only  interests,  but  rights  and  duties. 

There  is  not,  and  there  cannot  be,  any  true  system  of 
political  morality,  which  does  not  consult  the  greatest 
happiness  of  the  greatest  number.  And  no  splendor 
of  a  nobility,  no  magnificence  of  a  throne,  can  atone  for 
the  want  of  that  principle.  No  sentiment  of  loyalty, 
however  honorable  and  graceful  it  may  seem,  can 
stand  in  place  of  the  dignity  of  justice. 

And  what  is  that  justice — the  justice  of  a  social  sys- 
tem ?  What  is  the  tenor  of  the  law  under  which  all  men 
evidently  hold  life,  and  all  the  blessings  of  life,  from 
the  great  Creator?  Is  it  that  one  man's  will  shall  reign, 
a  despotic  sovereign,  over  the  welfare  of  millions  ?   Is 


288  THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM, 

it  that  any  one  class  shall  be  raised  to  perpetual  honor 
and  power,  while  all  other  classes  shall  be  proportion- 
ably  depressed?  Is  this  justice?  I  am  not  saying 
now  what  temporary  expediency  may  be  ;  but,  I  say, 
is  this  justice  ?  How,  is  it  manifestly  the  will  of  heav- 
en, that  men,  its  children,  should  regard  and  treat  one 
another  ?  Must  we  quote  written  texts,  to  prove  that 
the  great  Being  who  reigns  over  all  is  no  respecter  of 
persons  ?  Must  we  solemnly  appeal  to  the  universal 
sense  of  right  in  the  human  breast,  to  show  that  ac- 
cording to  the  will  of  God,  the  dispensation  of  wealth, 
happiness,  honor  and  all  the  blessings  of  existence 
should  come  the  nearest  possible  to  the  measure  of  dis- 
tributive justice — the  nearest  possible  to  being  the  re- 
ward of  merit  ?  That  it  cannot  come  precisely  to  this 
point,  is  true  ;  but  is  that  any  argument  for  failing  to 
come  the  nearest  possible  to  it  ?  Can  any  honorable 
and  generous  mind  willingly  consent  to  live — can  it 
live  happily,  with  monstrous  social  injustice  all  around 
it — with  monstrous  social  injustice  as  the  very  basis 
of  its  distinction  ; — and  that  injustice  capable  of  a  rem- 
edy ?  And  is  there  not  injustice  in  the  social,  the  semi- 
feudal  system  of  Europe — a  system  of  immemorial 
preferences  in  church  and  state,  in  political  employ- 
ments and  social  honors  ?  What  is  it  but  to  run  a  race, 
in  which  certain  hereditary  competitors  have  all  the 
advantage  !  Would  you  send  your  sons  so  to  run  a 
race  even  in  a  May-day  game  ?  But  what  is  this  to 
the  race  of  life,  the  race  for  happiness  which  all  men 
are  running  ?  Would  you  put  out  your  children  to  an 
apprenticeship,  or  into  a  school,  where  certain  of  their 
fellows,  by  no  merit  of  their  own,  were  placed  so  fai 
above  them,  that  they  could  only  by  gracious  permis- 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  280 

sion,  raise  their  eyes  to  them  ?  But  what  would  this 
be,  to  the  great  discipline  and  school  of  life  ?  These 
are  not  mere  figures*  They  represent  facts*  They 
point  to  grievous  burthens,  heavy  to  be  borne.  Is  it 
not  a  burthen  to  the  Dissenter,  that  all  the  ecclesiasti- 
cal revenues  of  a  kingdom,  should  be  garnered  up  for 
a  privileged  church  ?  Is  it  not  a  burthen  to  the  com- 
moner, that  so  many  of  the  powers  and  honors  of  a 
state,  should  be  lavished  upon  a  hereditary  class  ?  Is 
it  not  a  burthen  to  the  laborer  or  artisan,  that  so  large 
a  portion  of  the  capital  of  a  country,  should  be  for 
ever  sequestrated  from  their  reach,  for  the  ease  and 
aggrandisement  of  a  few  ?  The  capital  of  a  country 
consists  mainly  in  its  soil,  its  mines,  its  woods  and  wa- 
ters. And,  now,  to  take  the  most  prosperous  example 
of  feudal  institutions  in  the  world — who,  I  ask,  who 
own  almost  half  of  the  soil  and  mines,  the  woods  and 
waters  of  England  ?  Her  nobles.  And  by  law,  they 
are  permitted  to  hold  them,  in  perpetual  entail,  in  their 
own  families,  for  their  own  advantage,  and  even  free 
from  attachment  for  debt !  And,  in  addition  to  this,  by 
the  custom  and  courtesy,  should  I  not  rather  say,  the 
discourtesy  of  society,  they  are  permitted  to  look  down 
upon  the  whole  surrounding  world. 

I  thank  heaven,  that  I  live  in  a  country  of  more  equal 
institutions.  I  do  not  pretend  here  to  judge  of  Eng- 
lish reforms.  Whether  they  are  too  rapid  or  too  slow, 
I  am  not  qualified  to  decide.  But  I  may,  at  least, 
thank  heaven,  that  we  do  not  need  them.  Perhaps  I 
have  a  hearer,  to  whom  even  these  candid  allusions  to 
England  may  not  be  agreeable.  It  may  not  be  with- 
out some  degree  of  irritation,  that  he  will  ask,  why  I 
should  say  any  thing  in  disparagement  of  England  ? 
25 


290  THE    BLESSING    OF   FREEDOM. 

the  most  glorious  country,  he  may  say,  in  the  world. 
He  may  say  this,  and  I  shall  not  refuse  to  agree  with 
him :  but  the  glory  of  England  is  the  work  of  time  and 
position,  and  of  a  noble  race  of  men,  and  not,  I  trust, 
of  the  inequality  of  her  political  constitution.  Why, 
then,  do  I  speak  as  I  do,  even  of  the  fairest  and  most 
modified  example  of  feudal  institutions  ?  I  will  answer. 
It  is  because  I  stand  up  for  justice,  as  the  dearest  im- 
munity of  a  civilized  state.  It  is  because  I  stand  up 
for  humanity,  as  the  noblest  claim  in  the  world.  It  is 
because  I  contend  for  a  dignity,  higher  than  that  of 
kings  and  nobles — the  dignity  of  truth.  It  is,  in  fine, 
because  I  am  willing,  and  I  wish  to  stand  on  earth  as 
a  man — beneath  the  equal  and  even  canopy  of  heav- 
en— in  presence  of  the  impartial  justice  and  loving- 
kindness  that  reign  in  that  heaven — there  to  discharge 
my  lot,  and  to  work  out  my  welfare  as  a  man.  It 
offends  me,  to  think  that  I  or  any  other  man  should 
be  bolstered  up  with  hereditary  advantages,  or  with 
social  or  religious  immunities,  that  are  denied  to  mine 
equals,  my  brethren,  in  the  sight  of  God.  That  is  my 
feeling,  be  it  called  quixotism,  or  whatever  else  any  one 
may  call  it.  I  have,  in  this  matter,  an  unfortunate  and 
strange  way  of  thinking  of  others,  as  if  they  possessed 
my  own  nature  ;  and  I  cannot  patiently  bear,  that  the 
children  of  one  common  Father,  should  be  treated  with 
a  partiality  that  would  revolt  me,  if  it  were  introduced 
among  the  children  of  an  earthly  parentage.  It  is  mon- 
strous in  the  eye  of  reason ;  it  is  treason  to  gentle  hu- 
manity ;  it  is  as  truly  unjust,  as  if  it  were  the  oppres- 
sion of  bonds  and  burthens ;  and  the  time  will  come, 
when  it  will  be  so  regarded.  The  dignity  of  the  Eng- 
lish mind,  I  am  certain,  will  not  always  bear  it.     In 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  291 

the  mean  time,  I  say  it  again,  I  thank  heaven,  that  I 
am  made  no  party,  either  better  or  worse,  to  the  in- 
justice of  such  a  system. 

II.  In  the  next  place,  I  value  our  liberty,  and  deem 
it  a  just  cause  of  thankfulness  to  heaven,  because  it 
fosters  and  developes  all  the  intellectual  and  moral 
powers  of  the  country. 

Freedom  is  the  natural  school  of  energy  and  enter- 
prize.  Freedom  is  the  appropriate  sphere  of  talent 
and  virtue.  The  soul  was  not  made  to  walk  in  fetters. 
To  act  powerfully,  it  must  act  freely ;  and  it  must  act, 
too,  under  all  the  fair  incentives  of  an  honest  and  hon- 
orable ambition.  This  applies,  especially,  to  the  mass 
of  the  people.  There  may  be  minds,  and  there  are, 
which  find  a  sufficient  incentive  to  exertion,  in  the  love 
of  knowledge  and  improvement,  in  the  single  aim  at 
perfection.  But  this  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  the  con- 
dition of  the  mass  of  minds.  They  need  other  im- 
pulses. Open  then,  I  say,  freely  and  widely  to  every 
individual,  the  way  to  wealth,  to  honor,  to  social  respect 
and  to  public  office,  and  you  put  life  into  any  people. 
Impart  that  principle  to  a  nation  of  Turks,  or  even  of 
Hindoos,  and  it  will  be  as  a  resurrection  from  the  dead. 
The  sluggish  spirit  will  be  aroused  ;  the  languid  nerve 
will  be  strung  to  new  energy ;  there  will  be  a  stir  of 
action  and  a  spring  to  industry  all  over  the  country, 
because  there  will  be  a  motive.  Alas  !  how  many  poor 
toilers  in  the  world  are  obliged  to  labor,  without 
reward,  without  hope,  almost  without  motive  !  Like 
the  machinery  amidst  which  they  labor,  and  of 
which  they  are  scarcely  more  than  a  part,  they  are 
moved  by  the  impulse  of  blind  necessity.  The  single 
hope  of  bettering  their  condition,  which  now,  alas ! 


292  THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM. 

never  visits  them,  would  regenerate  them  to  a  new- 
life. 

Now,  it  is  with  such  life,  that  this  whole  nation  is 
inspired.  It  is  freedom  that  has  breathed  the  breath 
of  life  into  this  people.  I  know  that  there  are  perils 
attending  this  intense  action  and  competition  of  society. 
But  I  see,  nevertheless,  a  principle  that  is  carrying  for- 
ward this  country  with  a  progress,  altogether  unprece- 
dented in  the  history  of  the  world.  Invention,  internal 
improvement,  and  accumulation  among  us,  are  taking 
strides  before  unheard  of.  More  school-houses,  col- 
leges and  churches  have  been  builded,  in  this  country, 
within  the  last  twenty  years ;  more  canals  and  rail- 
roads have  been  constructed ;  more  fortunes  have  been 
acquired,  and,  what  is  better,  more  poor  men  have  risen 
to  competence ;  and,  in  fine,  more  enterprizes  and 
works  of  social  and  religious  beneficence  have  been 
achieved,  than  ever  were  done,  take  them  all  together, 
in  an  equal  time,  by  an  equal  population,  under  heaven. 
For  these  things,  1  love  and  honour  my  country.  For 
these  things,  I  am  thankful  to  heaven,  that  my  lot  is 
cast  in  it.  And  this  I  say,  not  in  the  spirit  of  boasting, 
but  because  I  think  the  time  has  come  when  it  needs 
to  be  said ;  because  I  believe  that  many  of  us  are  in- 
sensible to  our  advantages  ;  because  the  eyes  of  the 
world  are  fixed  upon  us  for  inquisition  and  for  reproach, 
and  incessant  foreign  criticism  is  liable  to  cool  the  fer- 
vor of  our  patriotism. 

Nay,  I  will  go  further,  and  confess  the  secret  hope 
I  have  long  entertained,  that  the  liberty  wherewith,  as 
I  believe,  God  has  made  us  free,  that  the  equal  justice, 
the  impartial  rewards  which  encourage  individual  en- 
terprize  in  this  country,  will  produce  yet  more  glorious 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  293 

and  signal  results ;  results  that  will  proclaim  to  all  the 
world,  that  political  equity  is  the  best  pledge  for  na- 
tional dignity,  strength  and  honor;  results  which  will, 
effectually  and  for  ever  break  down  the  pernicious 
maxim,  that  a  certain  measure  of  political  injustice  and 
favoritism,  is  necessary  to  the  order  and  security  of  the 
social  state.  As  I  believe  in  a  righteous  Providence,  I 
do  not  believe  in  this  maxim  ;  and  I  trust  in  God,  that 
it  will  receive  its  final  and  annihilating  blow  in  this 
very  country.  It  is  not  that  I  challange  for  our  people 
any  natural  superiority  to  other  people.  It  is  not  to 
the  shrine  of  national  pride  that  I  bring  the  homage  of 
this  lofty  hope,  but  to  the  footstool  of  divine  goodness. 
It  is  to  our  signal  advantages,  and  especially  to  the 
equal  justice  of  our  institutions,  that  I  look  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  this  great  hope.  I  believe  that 
freedom — free  action — free  enterprize — free  competi- 
tion— will  be  found  to  be  the  best  of  auspices  for 
every  kind  of  human  success.  I  believe  that  our  citi- 
zens will  be  found  to  act  more  effectively,  and  more 
generously,  and  more  nobly,  for  being  free  ;  that  our 
citizen  soldiers  will,  if  called  upon,  fight  more  valiantly 
for  being  free  ;  that  our  laborers  will  toil  more  cheer- 
fully for  being  free  ;  that  our  merchants  will  trade  more 
successfully ;  nay,  and  little  as  it  may  be  expected, 
that  our  preachers  and  orators  will  discourse  more  elo- 
quently, and  that  our  authors  will  write  more  power- 
fully, for  the  spirit  of  freedom  that  is  among  us.  The 
future,  indeed,  must  tell  us  whether  this  is  a  dream  of 
enthusiastic  patriotism.  But  I  would  fain  have  the 
most  generous  of  principles  for  once  laid  at  the  heart 
of  a  great  people,  and  see  what  it  will  do.  Alas !  for 
humanity — never  yet  has  it  been  treated  with  the  con* 
25* 


294  THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM. 

fidence  of  simple  justice.  Never  yet  has  any  voice 
effectually  said  to  man,  4<  God  has  made  thee  to  be  as 
happy  and  as  glorious  if  thou  wilt,  as  thy  most  envied 
fellow."  When  that  voice  does  address  the  heart  of 
the  multitude,  will  it  not  arouse  itself  to  loftier  efforts, 
to  nobler  sacrifices,  to  higher  aspirations,  and  more 
generous  virtues,  than  were  ever  seen  to  be  the  off- 
spring of  any  unequal  and  ungenerous  system  that  ever 
man  has  devised  ?  God  grant  that  the  hope  may  be 
realized,  and  the  vision  accomplished  !  It  were  enough 
to  make  one  say,  "now  let  me  depart  in  peace,  for 
mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation  !" 

III.  In  the  third  place,  I  value  political  liberty,  be- 
cause, of  that  which  a  free  and  unfettered  energy 
obtains,  it  gives  the  freest  and  amplest  use. 

What  is  the  effect,  nay,  what  is  the  design  of  a  des- 
potic government,  but  to  deprive  the  people  of  the 
largest  amount  that  it  can,  or  dare,  of  the  proceeds  of 
their  honest  industry  and  laudable  enterprize  ?  Under 
its  grossest  forms,  it  levies  direct  contributions  ;  in  its 
more  plausible  administration,  it  levies  taxes ;  but  in 
either  case,  its  end  is  the  same — to  feed  and  batten  a 
few,  at  the  expense  of  the  many.  In  order  the  more 
effectually  to  accomplish  this  purpose,  such  govern- 
ments require  standing  armies,  or  to  speak  more  ex- 
actly, a  military  force  to  act  at  home.  That  is  to  say, 
a  part  of  the  citizens,  one  of  each  family,  perhaps, 
must  be  armed  and  trained,  in  order  to  coerce  and 
control  the  labor,  the  toil,  the  entire  labor  of  the  rest. 

Such  then,  more  or  less  strongly  marked,  is  the  con- 
dition of  labor  in  every  part  of  the  world,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  our  own  favored  country.  The  people 
must  work  till  they  are  weary,  for  the  supply  of  their 


THE    BLESSING    OP    FREEDOM.  295 

own  wants.  So  far  the  law  of  labor  is  healthful,  and 
every  way  useful.  But  after  that,  they  must  work  a 
while  longer — one  or  two  hours  every  day — to  support 
a  home  military  force.  And  then,  when  the  yoke  is 
fairly  fixed  upon  their  necks,  they  must  work  as  much 
longer  as  their  masters  please,  to  gorge  the  almost  in- 
satiable appetite  of  a  luxurious  court,  and  a  herd  of 
idle  courtiers  and  sycophants  beside.  And  the  reward 
they  get,  is  two-fold ;  perpetual  poverty,  and  an  utter 
contempt  of  their  grovelling  employments. 

Let  me  not  be  told,  that  differences  in  the  form  of 
government  are  mere  matters  of  speculation  ;  that  they 
have  very  little  to  do  with  our  private  welfare  ;  that  a 
man  may  be  as  happy  under  one  form  as  another.  I 
think  it  was  on  occasion  of  our  Revolution,  that  Dr. 
Johnson  put  forth  some  such  oracle  as  this.  But  it  is 
not  true.  It  may  pass  for  good  nature,  or  for  smooth 
philosophy,  if  any  one  pleases  so  to  call  it,  but  it  is 
not  true.  What  more  obvious  interest  of  human 
life  is  there,  than  that  a  man's  labor  shall  produce 
for  him,  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  comfort ;  that 
he  should  enjoy,  as  far  as  is  compatible  with  the  sup- 
port of  civil  order,  the  proceeds  of  his  toil !  Labor, 
honorable  and  useful  as  it  is,  is  not  so  very  agreeable, 
that  a  man  should  recklessly  give  it  for  that  which  is 
not  bread.  And  that,  he  emphatically  does,  who  gives 
it  for  pensions,  sinecures  and  monopolies,  and  estab- 
lishments and  wars,  which  benefit  him-  not  at  all. 
What  real  interest  have  the  people  had  in  four-fifths 
of  the  wars  that  have  devastated  Europe,  and  burthen- 
ed  all  her  governments  with  enormous  debts  ?  It  is 
strange,  indeed,  when  the  laboring  hand  is  so  near  the 
suffering  heart,  that  men  do  not  feel  this.    But  the  rea^ 


296  THE    BLESSING    OF   FREEDOM. 

son  is,  that  the  exactions  of  selfish  and  unjust  govern- 
ments come  upon  them  in  the  indirect  form  of  taxa- 
tion— of  impost  and  revenue,  and  excise,  and  the  hun- 
dred minor  and  contemptible  contrivances  that  have 
been  invented,  to  hide  from  them  the  fact.  Let  them 
be  told,  let  them  see,  that  of  their  ten  hour's  toil  each 
day,  four  or  five  hours  only  are  for  themselves  or  their 
families,  while  the  remainder  are  for  other  families  and 
other  children  than  their  own,  and  they  would  think  it  in- 
tolerable. But  this,  more  or  less,  always  is,  and  always 
must  be,  the  condition  of  the  people,  where  govern- 
ments do  not  represent  its  expressed  and  supreme  will. 
For  it  is  not  in  human  nature,  lawfully  and  justly  to 
use  unlawful  and  unlimited  power.  I  only  wish  to 
know  that  governments  have  the  power  to  oppress  the 
people,  to  know  that  they  use  it.  And  the  very  defi- 
nition of  such  a  power  is — a  power  not  emanating  from 
themselves.  Tell  your  neighbor,  ay,  or  your  friend, 
that  he  may  govern  you,  not  as  much  as  you  please, 
but  just  as  much  as  he  pleases,  and  you  know  very 
well  what  the  consequence  will  be.  You  would  not 
trust  your  dearest  friend,  nor  scarcely  an  angel  in  heav- 
en, to  have  such  a  power  over  you.  I  thank  heaven^ 
that  there  is  no  such  power,  and  nothing  approaching 
to  it,  in  this  country7.  And  in  order  to  make  out  a 
clear  case  of  superior  advantages,  on  our  part,  it  is  not 
necessary  that  I  should  go  into  details,  (for  which,  in- 
deed, I  have  not  space ;)  it  is  not  necessary,  that  I 
should  now  particularize  and  say,  that  this  government 
possesses  such  a  power,  and  that  government  a  certain 
other  power,  which  bear  hard  upon  the  people ;  for 
every  government  not  emanating  from  them,  is  sure  to 
present  a  case  of  such  hardship.     But  one  fact,  I  will 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  297 

mention  in  this  connection,  which  may  stand  in  place 
of  all  other  facts,  and  that  is,  the  eternal  enmity  which 
exists  in  every  other  country  between  the  government 
and  the  people.  That  enmity,  as  old  as  the  creation, 
has  never  been  brought  so  completely  to  an  end  as 
here.  I  know  that  we  hear  sometimes  of  measures  of 
an  administration,  as  having  an  unfriendly  bearing  up- 
on particular  interests  ;  but  it  is  certain,  that  the  gov- 
ernment with  us,  can  never  stand  up  in  permanent 
hostility  to  that  people,  of  which  it  is  the  creature. 
But  when  we  turn  our  eyes  abroad,  what  do  we  see  ? 
Every  where  the  people  are  demanding  constitutions, 
charters,  immunities,  changes,  which  their  respective 
governments  will  not  concede  to  them.  So  far  as  the 
satisfaction  of  a  people  with  its  institutions  is  concern- 
ed, we  are,  after  all  that  is  said  about  popular  disturb- 
ances among  us,  in  a  state  of  singular,  of  enviable,  I 
may  say,  of  profound  tranquillity.  And  well  do  I  know, 
if  I  know  the  spirit  of  this  people,  that  that  tranquillity 
would  be  effectually  disturbed,  were  a  tithe  of  the  re- 
sistance and  refusal  to  which  every  other  nation  must 
submit,  to  lay  its  intolerable  grievance  on  us.  The 
very  cup  of  blessings  with  us,  would  be  a  cup  of  wrath 
and  indignation. 

I  have  offered  some  reasons  to  show  that  our  free- 
dom is  a  blessing.  It  is  founded  in  rectitude  as  a  prin- 
ciple ;  it  fosters  the  intellectual  and  moral  growth  of  a 
country  ;  and  it  favors  the  amplest  enjoyment  of  all 
the  blessings  of  existence.  These  are  reasons.  But  I 
should  not  exhaust  the  subject,  even  in  this  most  gen- 
eral view  of  it,  if  I  did  not  add  one  further  considera- 
tion in  behalf  of  freedom ;  a  consideration  that  is  high- 
er and  stronger  than  any  reason ;  I  mean  the  intrinsic 


298  THE    BLESSING   OP   FREEDOM. 

desirableness  of  this  condition  to  eveiy  human  being. 
In  this  respect,  freedom  is  like  virtue,  like  happiness  ; 
we  value  it  for  its  own  sake.  God  has  stamped  upon 
our  very  humanity  this  impress  of  freedom.  It  is  the 
unchartered  prerogative  of  human  nature.  A  soul 
ceases  to  be  a  soul,  in  proportion  as  it  ceases  to  be  free. 
Strip  it  of  this,  and  you  strip  it  of  one  of  its  essential 
and  characteristic  attributes.  It  is  this  that  draws  the 
footsteps  of  the  wild  Indian  to  his  wide  and  boundless 
desert-paths,  and  makes  him  prefer  them  to  the  gay 
saloons  and  soft  carpets  of  sumptuous  palaces.  It  is 
this  that  makes  it  so  difficult  to  bring  him  within  the 
pale  of  artificial  civilization.  Our  roving  tribes  are 
perishing — a  sad  and  solemn  sacrifice  upon  the  altar 
of  their  wild  freedom.  They  come  among  us,  and  look 
with  childish  wonder  upon  the  perfection  of  our  arts, 
and  the  splendor  of  our  habitations ;  they  submit  with 
ennui  and  weariness,  for  a  few  days,  to  our  burthen- 
some  forms  and  restraints  ;  and  then  turn  their  faces 
to  their  forest  homes,  and  resolve  to  push  those  homes 
onward  till  they  sink  in  the  Pacific  waves,  rather  than 
not  be  free. 

It  is  thus  that  every  people  is  attached  to  its  coun- 
try, just  in  proportion  as  it  is  free.  No  matter  if  that 
country  be  in  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  Switzerland, 
amidst  the  snows  of  Tartary,  or  on  the  most  barren  and 
lonely  Island-shore ;  no  matter  if  that  country  be  so 
poor,  as  to  force  away  its  children  to  other  and  richer 
lands,  for  employment  and  sustenance  ;  yet  when  the 
songs  of  those  free  homes  chance  to  fall  upon  the  ex- 
ile's ear,  no  soft  and  ravishing  airs  that  wait  upon  the 
timed  feastings  of  Asiatic  opulence,  ever  thrilled  the 
heart  with  such  mingled  rapture  and  agony,  as  those 


THE    BLESSING    OF    FREEDOM.  299 

simple  tones.  Sad  mementoes  might  they  be  of  pov- 
erty and  want  and  toil ;  yet  it  was  enough  that  they 
were  mementoes  of  happy  freedom.  And  more  than 
once  has  it  been  necessary  to  forbid  by  military  orders, 
in  the  armies  of  the  Swiss  mercenaries,  the  singing  of 
their  native  songs. 

And  such  an  attachment,  do  I  believe,  is  found  in 
our  own  people,  to  their  native  country.  It  is  the 
country  of  the  free ;  and  that  single  consideration  com- 
pensates for  the  want  of  many  advantages,  which  other 
countries  possess  over  us.  And  glad  am  I,  that  it 
opens  wide  its  hospitable  gates,  to  many  a  noble  but 
persecuted  citizen,  from  the  dungeons  of  Austria  and 
Italy,  and  the  imprisoning  castles  and  citadels  of  Po- 
land. Here  may  they  find  rest,  as  they  surely  find 
sympathy,  though  it  is  saddened  with  many  bitter  re- 
membrances ! 

Yes,  let  me  be  free  ;  let  me  go  and  come  at  my  own 
will ;  let  me  do  business  and  make  journies,  without  a 
vexatious  police  or  insolent  soldiery,  to  watch  my  steps  ; 
let  me  think,  and  do,  and  speak,  what  I  please,  subject 
to  no  limit  but  that  which  is  set  by  the  common  weal ; 
subject  to  no  law  but  that  which  conscience  binds  up- 
on me  ;  and  I  will  bless  my  country,  and  love  its  most 
rugged  rocks  and  its  most  barren  soil. 

I  have  seen  my  countrymen,  and  have  been  with 
them  a  fellow- wanderer,  in  other  lands  ;  and  little  did 
I  see  or  feel  to  warrant  the  apprehension,  sometimes 
expressed,  that  foreign  travel  would  weaken  our  pa- 
triotic attachments.  One  sigh  for  home — home,  arose 
from  all  hearts.  And  why,  from  palaces  and  courts — 
why,  from  galleries  of  the  arts,  where  the  marble  sof- 
tens into  life,  and  painting  sheds  an  almost  living  pres- 


300  THE    BLESSING    OP   FREEDOM. 

ence  of  beauty  around  it — why,  from  the  mountain's 
awful  brow,  and  the  lovely  valleys  and  lakes  touched 
with  the  sunset  hues  of  old  romance — why,  from  those 
venerable  and  touching  ruins  to  which  our  very  heart 
grows — why,  from  all  these  scenes,  were  they  looking 
beyond  the  swellings  of  the  Atlantic  wave,  to  a  dear- 
er and  holier  spot  of  earth — their  own,  own  country? 
Doubtless,  it  was  in  part,  because  it  is  their  country. 
But  it  was  also,  as  everyone's  experience  will  testify,  be- 
cause they  knew  that  there  was  no  oppression,  no  pitiful 
exaction  of  petty  tyranny ;  because  that  there,  they 
knew,  was  no  accredited  and  irresistible  religious  dom- 
ination ;  because  that  there,  they  knew,  they  should  not 
meet  the  odious  soldier  at  every  corner,  nor  swarms 
of  imploring  beggars,  the  victims  of  misrule  ;  that 
there,  no  curse  causeless  did  fall,  and  no  blight,  worse 
than  plague  and  pestilence,  did  descend  amidst  the 
pure  dews  of  heaven ;  because,  in  fine,  that  there,  they 
knew,  was  liberty — upon  all  the  green  hills,  and  amidst 
all  the  peaceful  valleys — liberty,  the  wall  of  fire  around 
the  humblest  home  ;  the  crown  of  glory,  studded  with 
her  ever-blazing  stars,  upon  the  proudest  mansion  ! 

My  friends,  upon  our  own  homes,  that  blessing  rests, 
that  guardian  care  and  glorious  crown ;  and  when  we 
return  to  those  homes,  and  so  long  as  we  dwell  in  them 
— so  long  as  no  oppressor's  foot  invades  their  thresh- 
olds, let  us  bless  them,  and  hallow  them  as  the  homes 
of  freedom !  Let  us  make  them,  too,  the  homes  of  a 
nobler  freedom — of  freedom  from  vice,  from  evil,  from 
passion — from  every  corrupting  bondage  of  the  soul. 


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